


Blood and Silver

by xanthera



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, and also who needs advanced technology when you have magic, but they still talk like they do in canon because it's not Heathers otherwise, heavily inspired by castlevania and vampire hunter d, honestly this might be a little bit steampunk-y as well, kurt and ram do exist here but their roles are minimal so I didn't tag them, leave your brain at the door this is just for fun, there's a trope called "anachronism stew" and this fits pretty well within the bounds of that trope, this takes place in some nebulous time period that resembles the early 1700s, with a dash of the Ravenloft D&D setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthera/pseuds/xanthera
Summary: In a kingdom plagued for centuries by the undead, it was decreed that each province would establish a school of martial and magical studies, with the aim of training the next generation of warriors against the darkness. Nestled in the small but bustling town of Sherwood lies just such a school.Veronica Sawyer has tried for years to make friends at Westerberg Academy of the Arcane, but she remains a social pariah. That is, until a chance encounter with the Coven of Calluna, a trio of powerful witches who rule the halls of Westerberg, finds her suddenly elevated to the top of the school’s unspoken hierarchy. Her life takes another drastic turn with the arrival of JD, an alchemist that she takes an immediate interest in. When the two attempt to prank the most powerful of the Calluna, a secret hidden within Heather Chandler’s very blood is brought to light.A storm is brewing on the horizon as the restless dead continue to stir, but the powers that have been awakened in Heather may just be the key to the survival of the town of Sherwood. Of course, that’s if she can get over her bad attitude long enough to let Veronica and JD help her harness them.Veronica has already started saying her prayers.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing, but I have twelve chapters planned for this beast and I'm having fun, so who cares if it's not perfect? I'll post more detailed notes when we get into the actual story. Also, brief trigger warning for emetophobia in the first two sentences of this chapter.

There was something distinctly ironic and humiliating about one of the greatest vampire hunters of all time being laid low by morning sickness.

Lady Beatrice stood and wiped her mouth, staring disdainfully at the pile of her own sick steaming on the snowy ground. She huffed and flipped her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder before mounting her horse and continuing down the road. She let her mind wander as the large gray animal trudged dutifully forward.

She knew she ought to feel a bit more disappointed about being pregnant, seeing as it would likely mean the end of her career hunting the undead, but the idea of raising a child didn’t sound altogether unpleasant. It would be good to have a protege to teach her craft to. And magic ran in her family, so her child would be a force to be reckoned with, and worthy of carrying on her legacy.

Even so, that still left the problem of having a child out of wedlock. She would have to find a husband soon to secure the best possible life for her child. Her thoughts turned to a handsome young bachelor with whom she had had a brief tryst a few months ago. Not too bright, but he was wealthy and charming, so she supposed he would do. What had his name been again? Roger? Rupert? It was something beginning with an “R,” she was sure.

She remembered his family name, though. Chandler.

Her mind made up, Beatrice spurred her horse east in the direction of the duchy of Sherwood.

That was her biggest problem solved, but the question remained: who was the real father? She wracked her brain for the answer. There was no shortage of men and woman who had tried - and in some cases succeeded - to bed her. And why shouldn’t they? Her skill was matched only by her beauty, and she knew it.

Finally, she remembered her most recent sexual conquest. She didn’t regret sleeping with him, despite the unplanned pregnancy. Pale-skinned with deep brown eyes and a disarming smile, anyone would have jumped at the chance to go to bed with him. Of course, while the sex itself had been fantastic, she’d had her own reasons for sleeping with him.

After all, it had been the only way to get close enough to drive a stake through his unbeating heart.

Her own heart dropped into her stomach as the realization hit her.

“Shit.”


	2. I. Scars and Sigils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica makes some powerful allies.

It took Veronica Sawyer a grand total of twelve seconds to remember why classes with Ms. Pauline Flemming were so excruciating. Speeches were all well and good, and yes, the history mattered, but _gods_ , did she have to be so melodramatic about _everything_?

“Welcome, one and all, to another year at Westerberg Academy of the Arcane! Twenty-nine years ago, our gracious and glorious leader, His Majesty King Lehman, set us on the path towards the salvation of humanity. Today, you will take your first faltering steps toward becoming the saviors of this world!”

Veronica scoffed and muttered, “Dear Diary: gag me with a spoon.”

“Shh! Veronica, this is important!”

The whispered admonishment had come from the large girl on her left, who wore a look of motherly disapproval.

“Give her a break, Martha. Flemming is being over-dramatic. You’ve got to admit it’s kind of obnoxious to hear this every year.” The bespectacled girl on Martha’s left put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and continued, “Besides, we all know the history. It’s okay to feel bored out of your skull. I sure as hell am.”

Martha gave a resigned sigh; Betty had a point. Veronica smirked, but it was almost instantly wiped off her face as Ms. Flemming continued her shpiel.

“Our goal at this school is simple, but essential. Each one of you was recruited to study in our halls because you possess gifts that may be used to defend your homeland. Whether physical or magical, you have all shown the potential to become warriors. Within these walls, you will be trained in new skills and improve on the old. Over the next few years, you will learn, you will grow, and you will evolve into the heroes who will deliver us from the darkness!”

Ms. Flemming finished her speech with a flourish. There was a muted cheer from a few particularly eager freshmen, but rest of the student body could only be moved to polite applause. This was enough to satisfy the ego of the head magic instructor of Westerberg, and she stepped back in order to let Headmaster Gowan make his final announcements.

Soon enough, (though not soon enough for Veronica), the orientation had finished, and the students flooded out of the doors of the amphitheater and into the courtyard of the school. Veronica hung back as the tide of people moved past her, waiting for the crowd to clear before heading to her first class. Betty and Martha sidled up next to her, perfectly content to be invisible to the rest of the student body.

When the crowd had mostly dispersed, Betty pulled a sheet of paper from her bag and unfolded it. “Which morning classes do you have? I have Alchemy and Marksmanship and then a free period before lunch.”

Martha squinted at her own schedule. “I have Alchemy, Restorative Magicks, and… Blunt Weapon Combat.” She groaned, and Veronica gave her shoulder a squeeze. She knew Martha still had no interest in the physical combat aspects of this school. If she’d had her way, she would have stayed an apprentice to the town healer, but she couldn’t exactly refuse an invitation from one of the Academies.

“I have Blunt Weapons at the same time as you,” Veronica said. “My first class is Advanced Runic Theory and after that it’s Applied Holy Symbols. Do you guys just want to eat lunch in the dining hall or do you want to go into town to--”

“Ugh, dude! Who the hell let the __mutt__ back into Westerberg?”

Veronica winced. She cautiously turned to face the familiar voice and tried not to be too obvious in her disdain for the two boys who had approached them.

Kurt Kelley and Ram Sweeney, aspiring swordsmen who had already helped to defend Sherwood from several undead threats, even before being enrolled at Westerberg. They were large, intimidating, and undeniably handsome.

They were also the two most self-absorbed, sex-hungry assholes in town.

“Move it before you end up like those ghouls we demolished last month,” Ram said, scowling down at Veronica.

“Damn right.” Kurt turned to sneer at Martha. “Better watch out, Fatty. It’s only a matter of time before she snaps, and you’re gonna be first on the menu.”

“Ha! Punch it in!”

Veronica couldn’t help scoffing at their dumb-as-hell catchphrase, but instantly regretted it when Ram grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. Her bag went tumbling to the floor as he growled, “I catch you pulling that kind of punk-ass shit again, and I’ll fucking destroy you. You got that, _skank?”_

Veronica gulped. “G-got it,” she stammered. She yelped as Kurt pushed her to the ground, and glared at Kurt and Ram’s retreating backs. Martha helped her to her feet as Betty began picking up her scattered belongings.

“Dicks,” she muttered, brushing a bit of dirt off her shoulder.

“Ignore them,” Betty said and handed her her bag. “They’re good at swinging big weapons and pretty much nothing else. You’re going to be a kickass scholar who finds a long-term solution for the undead, and what are those two meatheads going to do? They’ll just be corpse fodder on the front lines.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Martha murmured as she glanced in the direction the boys had gone.

Veronica sighed. “Anyway, are we eating in the dining hall today or what?”

 

\-----

 

Lunch in the dining hall wasn’t any better than it had been in the past. Veronica still wasn’t exactly a fan of having the entire school stare at her like some kind of abomination just because she had opted for a meal consisting mainly of meat.

 _They’re not exactly wrong, though _,__  she mused as she finished off her latest diary entry.

Not that she was the only one subjected to that kind of treatment. Poor Martha was the butt of a million jokes, and Betty didn’t fare much better. It honestly baffled Veronica that the students were so fucking petty and cruel all the time. They were training to fight monsters, and yet, for whatever reason, people still felt the need to be constantly cruel to one another. How were they expected to stave off undead armies if they couldn’t go five minutes without calling each other names or pushing each other to the ground just for the fun of it? Sure, there were required team-building exercises as part of the curriculum, but it didn’t mean shit outside of the classroom. With the way her classmates treated one another, she wouldn’t be surprised if at least half of the graduating class ultimately ended up dead or Turned.

She sighed and snapped her diary shut, taking a moment to appreciate her surroundings for the first time since coming outside to write.

She had taken refuge at the edge of the school gardens for her free period. It consisted of a field behind the main building that bled into the forest on the outskirts of Sherwood. The trees surrounding the gardens had been enchanted to drive away any unholy creatures that might try to sneak out of the woods and onto the school grounds. (Not that any such creature would stand a chance against the students and faculty, but it was always good to be safe.) Various planters and small terrariums containing alchemical components were on display, open for observation and harvest by the students. There was also a large steel and glass gazebo with a dark wood roof, and in the center of the garden sat an ornate fountain surrounded by benches, chairs, and tables. It really was an idyllic place to study or spend free time.

Made less idyllic by a sudden sharp voice.

“Ugh, Ripper is such a bullshit fencing teacher. He should stick to hammers and daggers like the pleb he is.”

Veronica felt her mouth go dry when she looked up at the source of the disturbance.

Of course. Of fucking course the Heathers would be here. Apparently the gods hadn’t finished humiliating her for the day. She opened up her diary and began scrawling out a sigil. Concealment charms wouldn’t do anything in the crowded dining hall, but hiding in the mostly empty garden would be easy. The last thing she wanted to do was to draw the ire of the Coven of Calluna.

“I don’t know, Heather.” A tall blonde in a pale yellow dress and cloak settled onto the largest bench beside another girl in a similar green outfit. “Ditching this one might actually set us back. He has some good pointers.”

The girl in green scoffed. “For a novice, maybe. A class called ‘Advanced Fencing’ should actually be __advanced__. Anything is a better use of our time than reviewing how to do a basic fucking parry.” She turned to address the last member of their group, a girl in red, who was busying herself with one of the planters. “Am I right, Heather?”

“Shut up, Heather, I’m concentrating,” she spat, and brushed a few stray strands of red hair out of her face. “Ugh, they re-did the fucking planters again. I have no idea where anything is now.” She stomped over to the bench and sat down with a huff. “We had a fucking system, damn it!”

Ah, the Heathers, in all their bitchy glory. Veronica had almost missed them.

Heather McNamara was pretty as ever, decked out in the best clothes money could buy. Was that a new necklace she was sporting? Most likely, Veronica decided. Being the daughter of the best goldsmith and jeweler in Sherwood had its perks, that was for sure.

Heather Duke seemed wearier than she had at the end of last year. Not surprising, given how close she was to her eighteenth birthday, when she would inherit the burden of governing an entire duchy. Veronica had no idea how to feel about one of the Heathers becoming Duchess of Sherwood.

And, of course, Heather Chandler was still incredibly rich, incredibly powerful, incredibly mean, and __incredibly fucking hot__.

Veronica glanced up from her finished scroll to steal a glance at her, which turned out to be a blessing, as she caught sight of Ms. Flemming rounding the corner of the main building and walking toward the garden.

Where the Heathers were ditching class.

Without thinking, she sprinted toward the bench where the Heathers sat and slapped the scroll on the bench before sitting next to Chandler.

“Who the f--?!”

“Shh! Flemming’s over there.”

The other girls looked up, and sure enough, Ms. Flemming was headed their way. The group was silent as the teacher glanced around the gardens, pulled a few items from a planter, and made her way back toward the main building.

Veronica scrambled to her feet the moment Ms. Flemming had turned the corner, watching as Heather Chandler pulled the scroll off of the bench. She turned it over in her hand and let out a low whistle. “This might be the best sigil of concealment I’ve seen in years.” She looked up from the paper and gazed at Veronica with scrutiny. “Who are you?”

“Oh! Uh, V-veronica. Sawyer.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Sawyer…” Duke muttered, then snapped her fingers. “Ah, of course. I remember now. You’re the werewolf.”

A familiar pang of shame washed over Veronica. “R-right.” She hated that that was all she ever was. _The werewolf_.

McNamara narrowed her eyes at her. “Why help us avoid a detention?”

Veronica hesitated. “I mean, you’re a powerful coven. Doing a favor for you can’t be a _bad_ thing, right?”

The Heathers exchanged meaningful glances, seeming to have an entire conversation without speaking a word. (Which could very well have been the case, considering what Veronica knew of their powers.)

“Veronica.”

She immediately snapped to attention, forcing herself to make eye contact with Chandler despite her trepidation. Chandler’s voice was low and sultry, and Veronica could only hope that her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Y-yes?”

“Do you know  _exactly_  why we’re so powerful?”

 _That_ was a question she knew the answer to. She stood tall and stoic, hoping that a show of confidence might work in her favor. “You’re all accomplished witches in your own right, obviously, but it’s your names that really give you that extra edge. You’re all named after a type of plant, which gives you a strong connection to the earth, and because you share the same name, your magic is even stronger when you’re all together.”

Duke smirked. “Smart cookie. I wonder if you can show us what that brain is _really_ capable of.”

“Uh, like what?” Veronica’s heart was thudding with excitement. If she played her cards right, she could end up in the good graces of the future Duchess. A connection like that would guarantee her a place of high social standing after graduating. The stigma of her lycanthropy would mean nothing.

“Use your imagination,” McNamara smiled. “I’m sure you can think of something.”

“W-well, I can forge signatures and handwriting, too, and…” She could feel the Heathers’ eyes boring into her. Her writing skills were nothing to scoff at, but they clearly wanted something more concrete. It was risky, but maybe…

Veronica decided to take a chance. She took a deep breath and rolled her left sleeve up to her shoulder, revealing a tattoo that criss-crossed a twisted mass of scar tissue. A large diamond shape dominated her upper arm, with arrows extending from the top and bottom corners and two hook shapes that interlocked in the middle.

“That’s where I was bitten,” she said. “I wrote a binding sigil when I was nine and had it tattooed over the mark. Almost nothing can force me to shift unless I choose to. This is what lets me control my transformations. This is why I can live like a normal person.”

The three witches looked at one another, and a smile slowly crept onto Chandler’s face. “I think we could use someone with your talents,” she purred. “If I were to offer you a formal invitation to join the Coven of Calluna, would you accept?”

Veronica sputtered. “Yes! Hell yes!”

“Good! Then Meet us here at eleven o’ clock tonight. You, Veronica Sawyer, are going to be beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not too jazzed about how this chapter came out, but I wanted to get some exposition out of the way before we get to the meat of the story. Anyway, I'm having fun with transposing the characters' canon traits into fantasy tropes and talents. I haven't talked about Betty's preferred fighting methods yet, but that will come up eventually. Also, just so it isn't a mystery, the name "Calluna" is a nod to the scientific name for the actual heather plant, calluna vulgaris. Because I'm just that much of a nerd.


	3. II. Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica gives a demonstration and the Heathers perform a very interesting ceremony.

Leaving the house after the sun had already set had gone a lot smoother than Veronica expected. She honestly thought that her parents would put up more of a fuss about her going out so late, but then again, she’d never bothered to ask to do so before. Being a werewolf did have one definite upside: overprotective parents really weren't a problem she had to deal with. They knew she could handle herself.

She listened to the satisfying crunch of gravel under her boots as she made her way up the path towards Westerberg, and found herself a bit disappointed when the gravel gave way to the manicured grass of the school grounds.

“Perfect timing.”

She looked up from the ground to see the Calluna gathered by the fountain. They had changed from their more formal dresses and corsets into plain skirts and loose blouses, albeit still in their colorful cloaks. A large bag sat on the bench behind them, filled with who-knew-what.

She also recognized three non-human faces that she had seen around the school before. Westerberg had a strict policy regarding pets, but that hadn’t stopped the Calluna’s loyal familiars from loitering at the edge of the school grounds during the day. With the teachers gone, they had reunited with their mistresses.

McNamara held an orange cat in her arms, while a large rottweiler sat dutifully at Duke’s feet, and a brown eagle perched atop Chandler’s shoulder. All three animals stared at Veronica with the same intensity as the Heathers themselves.

It was unnerving, honestly, seeing them like this. Outside of school, they weren’t just catty rich girls. They embodied exactly what one would expect of a powerful coven. She had no idea what to expect, but whatever they asked of her, she would gladly do it.

“I, uh, I’m ready for… whatever this is,” she said, smiling awkwardly.

Heather Chandler smirked. “You’d better be.” Her eagle flew down to the bench as she reached into the bag and pulled out a several items of clothing, the last one being what really caught Veronica’s eye. It was a cobalt blue overcoat, with cuffed sleeves and a black leather pauldron on the left shoulder. “For starters, you can’t be seen with us in the crap you’re wearing right now.”

Veronica was offended for a brief moment, but she realized that Heather was… well, not entirely wrong about her wardrobe. It wasn’t as though she didn’t care about how she looked, but she had never bothered with anything particularly fancy or complicated. What was the point of wearing nice things when transforming would just rip them to shreds anyway? Not that she transformed often, but she hated having to strip to do so, so she had always preferred cheap, plain clothes that could be easily replaced.

“The coat isn’t complete yet,” McNamara said. “You’ll have to help us finish the outfit, and then it’ll be entirely yours. The clothes will absorb themselves into your skin whenever you transform, and reemerge when you shift back.”

Veronica had to fight the urge to squeal with delight. “What do I need to do? I can’t sew, but I’ll do whatever I have to.”

Duke grinned. “Go hunting.”

“What?”

Chandler put an arm around Veronica’s shoulders, and she found herself immensely grateful that this meeting was taking place at night so that no one could see the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“Transform, go into the woods, hunt down an animal, and bring it back,” Chandler said, steering her in the direction of the treeline. “We’ll use the pelt as the final piece. Having a part of the outfit be a product of your lycanthropy will make it your own.”

Veronica was a bit concerned about the kind of soul magic this whole thing smacked of, but she wanted this. She wanted it so badly.

“Alright. I, um…” She cleared her throat as she kicked off her boots. “You might want to, uh, give me some space for this?”

Chandler stepped away, and Veronica took a deep, steadying breath. Giving herself to the wolf inside her was never easy. However, she was more than willing to endure it to be one of the Calluna.

Focusing on the form she needed to take, she formed one word clearly in her mind: “Change.”

Familiar and excruciating pain immediately coursed through her, like she was being split apart at the seams, and she dropped to all fours in agony. Her bones reshaped themselves, her muscles tore themselves apart and knitted themselves back together to fit her growing form. She felt a scream rip from her throat, which quickly devolved into a roar as her neck and jaw lengthened. Her muscles bulged, fur pushed itself out of her skin, her teeth and nails grew longer and sharper, and damn it all, _it hurt_ , it always hurt so fucking much, but it was too late to stop it.

But then it was over, and everything came into focus. Her eyes cut through the darkness like it was nothing. She was aware of countless individual sounds that had blended into white noise before. The cool night air carried a thousand smells that no human could ever perceive. Yes, her wolf blood heightened her senses even when in human form, but nothing could compare to what she was capable of like this. Everything was sharper, clearer. Why had she felt any hesitation? She was stronger, faster, more aware of the world. She had power. She could do anything.

“Holy shit.”

Veronica whirled around to face the voice of Heather McNamara. Right. There was a reason she had changed. The Heathers were staring at her with a mix of wonder and revulsion, and their familiars were nowhere to be seen. Well, the transformation _was_ a pretty gruesome sight. She couldn’t help a toothy grin as she looked to them for approval.

Chandler looked her up and down before calling out, “Arastra, keep an eye on her.” The eagle made itself known with a screech and soared above their heads into the trees. “Try to be back before midnight, Veronica.”

Her demand was met with a howl as the werewolf took off into the forest.

The trees flew past her in a blur as she tried to pick up a scent to follow. Anything she could hunt down would be fine, but the power she felt like this was intoxicating. She needed to find a challenge. Something large, dangerous. Something that would put up a fight. Otherwise, what was the point?

Another howl reached her sensitive ears. One long, lonely note that echoed in the darkness with no answer. Somewhere in the forest, there was a lone wolf.

Hopefully a somewhat worthy opponent.

Veronica felt the wind whip through her brown fur as she sprinted in the direction of the howl. She soon found the familiar canine scent, and picked up her speed. Despite how fast she ran, she felt no fatigue. The cruel words and disgusted stares of her peers meant nothing to her now. She was an unstoppable force, and she reveled in every second of it.

And then she saw it. The large gray wolf seemed to almost be waiting for her, like it knew what was coming.

She charged, but the wolf jumped to the side and lunged for her throat. It bit down hard and kicked viciously with its back legs. Veronica roared and grabbed the wolf by its tail to pull it off of her. It let out a yelp as she threw it to the ground, and she pounced before it could attack again.

There really was no contest. The fight was over sooner than she wanted it to be, but she had a few scratches and bite marks to show for it. That was better than nothing. She picked up the bloodied animal in her enormous jaws and trotted happily back towards Westerberg.

She wasn’t sure how to gauge the reactions of the Heathers as she emerged from the trees. Even so, she laid her kill at their feet and sat back on her haunches as they examined it by the light of a fire they had built in her absence. Heather Duke sniffed in disgust and flicked her wrist, magically cleaning the blood off of the dead wolf in an instant. “Gross, but at least it’s in one piece.” She jerked her head in the direction of Veronica’s new clothes. “Now make yourself decent and we’ll start the ritual.”

She was still riding the high that hunting gave her, but the word “ritual” stirred the human part of Veronica’s mind back to full lucidity.

Changing back to a human was never as painful as the other way around, but it was no less strange a sensation. In some ways in was __worse__. Like jumping into a pool of water, her senses were suddenly dulled. The darkness seemed to all but swallow her up as her vision faded back to the absolutely dismal eyesight provided by her pathetic human form. Her muscles shrank, her claws retracted, her fangs returned to normal teeth. Gods, she was so _feeble_ as a human. Why did she even bother changing back? She could easily turn around and return to the woods, or--

A burning sensation in her shoulder jolted her back to reality.

_Fuck. Fucking hell, I almost went full wolf again .  Go back. Go back. GO BACK. Be human. I’m human. I’m HUMAN. HUMAN, DAMN IT._

Veronica had experienced this before, the animal side of her trying to take control, but she knew herself well enough to stop it. Still, it left her mentally exhausted and shaking on the cold ground. She focused on the feeling of the night air against her bare skin, a sensation that was uniquely human, until her thoughts were quiet enough for her to tell her arm to reach out and grab the nearest piece of clothing.

Her mind was still blurry as she numbly slipped on the surprisingly luxurious skirt and blouse. (Well, not that surprising, considering the Heathers had paid for them.) She wordlessly slipped her shoes back on and walked to where the Calluna had already begun preparing the dead wolf, cautiously stepping into the empty space in the circle they had formed in around the small fire.

“Hold out your left palm,” said Chandler. Veronica obeyed, but withdrew her hand as Chandler suddenly drew a sharp knife across it.

“Ow! What the fuck, Heather?! A little warning next time?!”

“Shut up, we need your blood for this. Now follow our lead.” The Heathers all knelt around the wolf and Veronica followed. They each placed their left hands on the dead animal, which Veronica mimicked, wincing as the course fur brushed against the fresh wound.

“Earth Mother: hear us now,” Chandler began. “Your child has fallen, brought down by this woman, Veronica Sawyer. She has proven herself a master of her own fate. Let this triumph be proof of her command over the wolf within her. Imbue her with the strength of your fallen child, and when she wears its skin, let it be her shield.”

McNamara and Duke joined her, “By fire and water, by earth and air.”

Veronica swore she felt something shift in the skin of the dead animal.

Chandler continued, “Let her blood be a testament to this: her trophy shall be a second skin to her. The Calluna have declared it, and she shall be of the Calluna. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Duke and McNamara echoed.

Veronica swallowed hard as the Heathers’ expectant eyes fell on her. “…S-so mote it be.”

Now she _knew_ that something had changed in the wolf's body. The stinging in her hand was abruptly replaced by a soothing warmth that began to spread throughout her body. She ran her fingers through its fur, suddenly relishing in the way that it flowed over her skin.

She let out a small whimper of disappointment when Duke pulled the wolf away from her and hefted it onto her familiar’s back. “Oh, quit whining. You’ll get it back tomorrow. And don’t worry about Kovos.” She patted the dog’s head. “He won’t touch it.”

Somehow, the look the dog gave her was enough to alleviate her hesitation to part with her… trophy? She supposed that’s what she should call it. Hell, maybe she ought to give it a name. Still, she couldn’t help sighing as Duke escorted her kill away.

Veronica became aware of Chandler beside her and stood up to meet her gaze. “Will it really work, though? Not the spell, I’m sure you can make clothes that won’t be destroyed when I change. But will people, like, actually leave me alone now that I’m…” She hesitated. “Now that I’m a member of the Calluna?”

Chandler scoffed indignantly. “Okay, first of all, doubting our abilities is number one on the list of things you can’t do now that you’re one of us. And second of all, that coat isn’t just a fashionable way of making your transformations less of a pain in the ass. Whether you wear the wolf skin or not, you’ve bonded yourself to a good outcome from your lycanthropy. That hunt wasn’t just for sport, it had a purpose. You made something; something that wouldn’t exist if you weren’t a werewolf.

“You need to keep that knowledge with you all the time. _Own_ your lycanthropy. No one can attack you for it unless you let them. Not that there are many people who would get away with that shit anymore, but there are always idiots who’ll try. If you turn your existence as a werewolf into something positive, you’ll have absolute mastery of it. Make sense?”

Veronica mulled over her words for a few moments before nodding.

“Good. Now go home and rest. We’ll meet up in front of the McNamara estate tomorrow morning an hour before classes start. ” Her familiar flew down to her shoulder, and she made her way out of the gardens.

Veronica stood speechless as McNamara sidled up beside her. “Self-doubt isn’t a good look for you, Ronnie,” she said, and giggled as her cat rubbed against Veronica’s ankles. “Skimble agrees with me.” She waved her hand and all traces of the fire vanished, then jogged after Chandler, leaving Veronica alone in the gardens.

What the Hell had she just signed up for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of got away from me. I was going to try to work in the events of "Candy Store" and "Fight For Me" but I had a little too much fun with the supernatural aspects and it got a bit long for that. The canon elements of the story are going to come back in the next chapter, I swear.
> 
> And yes, I know it takes more than one night to tan and prepare an animal hide. The Heathers are witches, they can do what they want. (I'm also a lazy writer, but I'm not here to write about the ins and outs of making Veronica's outfit. That's just not as much fun as other aspects of the story.)
> 
> Anyway, let's see how many people know what McNamara's familiar is a reference to. Hint: it's another musical. ;)


	4. III. Sweet Shoppe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica faces a moral crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into some light worldbuilding today, primarily with the introduction (not explanation) of a particularly nasty in-universe threat.

Three weeks as a member of the Calluna was an interesting milestone, if only because of just how much she had learned about the other members in that short time.

Like the fact that Heather Duke did not, in fact, wear her corsets too tight just because it was expected of female nobility; she was really that skinny. (Veronica had her suspicions, and was actually somewhat concerned for her new friend, but she didn’t want to pry.)

Or how Heather McNamara was pretty damn blase about the fact that her mother had died giving birth to a stillborn child when she was six years old, even mentioning it in casual conversation at times. (Her sense of humor in general was rather morbid, which Veronica found equal parts off-putting and hilarious.)

But the juiciest tidbit had been about Heather Chandler’s mother: the famed Lady Beatrice, who had gone out in a blaze of glory destroying a powerful lich, had left her daughter her _entire vampire hunting arsenal_  for when she came of age. (Chandler also seemed remarkably unfazed by the whole ‘dead mom’ thing. Veronica would have suspected a conspiracy if she didn’t know for a fact that Duke’s mom was alive and well.)

And Chandler hadn’t been kidding when she said that they would “have some use” for Veronica. It turned out that they had, in fact, taken her comment about forging handwriting seriously, and had utilized that skill for odd jobs and harmless pranks multiple times. They’d also taken her on several trips out into the duchy in order to curry favor with the adults by helping to keep the Blight out of their fields, and by blessing the ground to give bountiful crops.

 _ _That__ , Veronica realized, was why the Heathers could be such megabitches and still be worshiped not just by Westerberg, but by pretty much all of Sherwood. And now that Veronica was part of the coven, this responsibility and reward became hers, as well.

They had a system when they went on these “purge and purify missions,” and Veronica was the perfect addition to it. After the Heathers had killed off the Blighted plants and cleansed the soil, she would bury protective runes and place repulsion sigils on the fence all along the border of the property to keep the Blight from coming back for as long as possible. Missions like these took up a lot of her time outside of school, but she found it gratifying.

The biggest change in her life had been the way other students interacted with her. Rather than disgust or fear, they looked at her with what she could only describe as awe. Being a member of the Calluna had completely done away with her status at the bottom of the food chain. She still received a few wary glances now and then, but people had stopped bothering her. In fact, now people seemed to… like her?

The Heathers hadn’t stopped with the new clothes; they had completely redone her hair and had given her lessons on proper makeup application. Veronica could not be seen in anything less than perfection while in the presence of the Calluna. It seemed to have an immediate effect. She had never thought of herself as particularly attractive before, but since joining them, she had had at least eight encounters with students who got tongue-tied or blushed furiously while talking to her.

If she was being honest with herself, she kind of enjoyed being on the other side of the power dynamic in Westerberg. She would never go out of her way to be truly cruel beyond the general bitchiness that came with being an honorary Heather, but there were no consequences for being sarcastic at someone else’s expense, including her former tormentors. She would be lying if it she she said it didn’t feel good.

Of course, it hadn’t all been sunshine and rainbows. (Not that very many things were these days, with the undead and the Blight and all.) She’d had next to no time to spend with Martha and Betty, and what little time she did have was undercut by the harsh glares that the Heathers sent their way.

And that was saying nothing about the way Martha had reacted the first time she saw Veronica wearing the the wolf pelt. How Veronica had forgotten about Martha’s animal Empathy, she didn’t know, but the guilt she felt upon seeing Martha’s face still stung weeks later. She had done her best to explain that the wolf hadn’t been killed for sport, but to have a purpose, and that in a way some of the animal’s soul was still present, but it took reassuring her that the wolf’s death had been quick to make her feel better.

That last particular conversation had happened three weeks ago, and Veronica had only had about five more with her friends in that period of time. She missed spending time with Betty and Martha, but she couldn’t afford to piss off the Calluna by associating with “plebeian losers,” as Duke had called them. Not when her future in Sherwood looked so bright with the Heathers by her side.

Suffice to say that she’d had plenty to write about in her diary. So much so that she was taking some of her lunch period to keep it up to speed. Sitting at the Heathers’ table was a refreshing experience for Veronica. No one bothered or harassed her these days, and it was nice to be able to eat lunch in relative peace.

“Holy shit,” Chandler breathed. “I just had the __best__ idea.” She glanced around the crowded dining hall cautiously, as if anyone would have the balls to eavesdrop on the Calluna. A devious grin grew on her face, and she turned to Veronica. “You had Ram Sweeney as a partner in one of your classes recently, right? Can you forge his handwriting?”

Veronica snorted and said, “Imitating that asshole’s chicken-scratch? Not a problem. What do you need?”

Chandler cleared her throat as Veronica prepared to start writing, Duke and McNamara listening intently. “’Hello, Beautiful. I’ve been thinking a lot about the past, especially since the school year started. Why did we ever drift apart? I’ve been watching you lately, and I think you’re incredibly talented. I hope I see you at the Equinox bonfire I’m hosting this weekend. Love, Ram.’ Oh, and put some X’s and O’s after the signature.”

Veronica finished the letter and carefully tore the page from her notebook. “So what are we doing with this?” she asked, handing the note to Chandler. “Are we going to make Courtney regret breaking up with him or something?”

Chandler shook her head and began folding the paper into the shape of a bird. “I found out this morning that Ram used to hang out with Martha Dungslop.”

Veronica decided that she didn’t like where this was going. Using that nickname was not a good sign, she was sure. “Yeah, when they were, like, six. Everyone played with everyone when we were little kids.”

“Not everyone kissed in front of the fountain in the square,” Duke pointed out.

McNamara clapped a scandalized hand to her mouth. “I forgot that that happened! Eww!”

Chandler tossed the folded paper into the air and flicked her wrist. It shuddered in midair for a moment before flapping its wings and landing on Chandler’s outstretched finger. It preened its non-existent feathers as she looked around the dining hall before she spotted her target. “Alright, little one,” she cooed, and the paper bird looked up at her. “Want to deliver a message for me?”

It nodded, and she pointed in the direction of the table in the corner where Martha and Betty sat. “You’re going to the fat one.”

Veronica choked on a mouthful of bread. The Heathers (and the paper bird) stared in disgust as she quickly spit the chewed up mess into a napkin. “What the fuck?!” she rasped. “Why?!”

“Why not?” Chandler said. “C’mon, it’ll be very. She’ll _love_ it. Imagine how much she could get off to it.”

Duke nodded. “She’s got to be fucking desperate. Hell, just the words ‘Hello, Beautiful’ is several _weeks _’__ worth of masturbation material, at least.”

Veronica was torn between horror, anger, and guilt. The mark on her shoulder burned with a rage that demanded to be released, but she ignored it. “Martha has had a crush on Ram for, like, twelve years. This would kill her.” She was met with three unreadable stares. She turned to Chandler with pleading eyes. “Come on, Heather, you’re bigger than this.”

For a moment, Veronica thought that Chandler was actually considering her words, but she was yanked back to the reality by a sharp pain in her wrist. She yelped and looked down to see that her abandoned fork had bent itself over her wrist, and both ends were buried deep in the wooden table, effectively locking her in place. She tore her gaze away from the metal biting into her skin to see Chandler pointing a faintly flowing finger at the makeshift shackle while Duke and McNamara glared.

“Are we really going to have this conversation?” Chandler said, leaning in close. Her voice was low and dangerous. “Is there some kind of problem I should know about?” She bent her finger slightly, and Veronica winced as the metal tightened around her wrist. “After you’ve come this far, why the hell have you suddenly chosen _now_ to start pulling my dick?”

Veronica opened her mouth to try to reason with her, but was interrupted by Chandler’s finger on her lips. “Don’t fucking come at me with that ‘But she’s my friend!’ bullshit. You’re a member of the Calluna now. The fact that we gave you that chance at all puts you in our debt, so you’ll have the friends we say you will. That does _not_ include losers like them.”

McNamara sneered. “You honestly think she wouldn’t do the same to you in your place? But hey, if you’d rather hang out with them, be our guest. Maybe you can go have a doll tea-party.”

“Or,” Duke chimed in, “you could forget those freaks and continue your new life of luxury. A life that’s coming out of _our_ pocket, by the way.”

“Don’t forget what we made you,” Chandler said. “Don’t forget what you were before. You might have control over your transformations, but you’re still a werewolf, and everyone is well aware of that. Make a choice, Veronica: you can fly with the eagles, or--” she grabbed her roughly by the chin and turned her face toward Betty and Martha’s table “--you can keep fucking with me and end up back on the bottom rung of the social ladder with _them_.”

Veronica opened and closed her mouth helplessly. Shit. _Shit_. They were right. She was nothing without them. Martha and Betty were her best friends, but this was her future that she was gambling. Pissing off the future duchess and her friends was a surefire way to fuck herself over for life. Not to mention they’d probably curse her, her family, her family’s home, and anything else they could. Hell, they’d probably find some way to scam her out of her first-born.

Chandler forced her to look at her again. “Time to choose: us or them?”

Veronica took a deep breath and let it out slowly. _Fucking hell._ “…You.”

Chandler’s face lit up. “Good choice, Ronnie.” She snapped her fingers, and the fork bounced back to its original shape, freeing Veronica’s hand. She rubbed the red mark on her wrist and watched with a grimace as the paper bird flew over to the table in front of Martha, unfolding itself into a normal shape as soon as it landed.

It took Martha a moment to notice the paper, but she unfolded it immediately upon discovering it. Veronica saw her face light up from all the way across the room, and she excitedly showed it to Betty.

A wave of guilt washed over her as Martha rushed across the dining hall toward the Heathers’ table. “Veronica, look at this! Ram invited me to the Equinox bonfire he’s holding! He _has_ been thinking about me! I told you there was still something between us!”

Veronica forced a smile. “Color me stoked,” she managed to say. The words tasted sour on her tongue.

Her face dropped as soon as Martha turned to skip back over to her table. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned to look at Chandler. “Smart move, Bluebird,” she said.

Veronica felt bile rising in her throat. “I- I need to use the restroom,” she said, quickly excusing herself before any of the Heathers could stop her.

_I’m a fucking terrible person._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a chapter gets away from me. As it was getting super long, I really didn't think adding the events of 'Fight For Me' would fit the pacing, so no JD yet. We'll meet the Edgelord next chapter, I promise. (Also I'm kind of mad that I wasn't able to post about the Equinox bonfire in time for the real-world Fall Equinox, but oh well.)


	5. IV. The Newcomer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a fresh face catches Veronica's eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! So sorry for the long absence; I was working at a haunted house this season (13th Floor in Denver for anyone curious), and I had shifts almost every single night in October, so I really haven't had the time to write. I'm going to shoot for one chapter a week now that my schedule is a lot less crazy, but with the end of the semester coming up, that could change.
> 
> Anyway, we finally get to meet the edgelord this chapter; hopefully I did him justice.
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of self-harm. Skip from "Son of a bitch!" to "JD visibly relaxed." if you don't want to read it.

Veronica hadn’t actually been sick, thank goodness, but it had taken her a few minutes to collect her thoughts and calm herself enough to return to the dining hall.

It was just a prank. It couldn’t be that bad, right? It didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Besides, Ram was a dick. Martha would be better off once she realized that. Then she’d finally get over him and could try pursuing romance with someone who wasn’t a piece of human garbage. This would be a good thing in the end.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Sawyer,” she mumbled, and leaned against the wall on the far side of the dining hall, not feeling very eager to return to the Heathers’ table just yet.

“You shouldn’t have bowed down to the wicked witches of Westerburg,” someone said. “That girl is gonna be crushed.”

Veronica turned to face the voice. Sitting at a table near the wall with a large book was a dark-haired boy in a long black coat that she didn’t recognize. His face was slightly gaunt, with dark circles under deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

He snapped his book shut and stood. “Obviously you’ve got a soul, but you’ve got to work harder on keeping it clean. You’re her friend, right? Being hurt by a friend is way worse than being hurt by an enemy. ‘Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take All this away, and me most wretched make.”

He began walking away, and Veronica sputtered in indignation. How dare he quote niche poetry and not follow it up with a discussion! “Um, okay. First of all, eavesdropping on the Heathers is suicide, so what the hell? And second, don’t just spout one of Shakespeare’s sonnets at me and then walk away.” The boy stopped, but didn’t look back at her. She floundered for a moment; she hadn’t expected him to actually respond. “I, uh… I didn’t catch your name.”

The boy looked back at her, winked, and said, “Because I didn’t throw it.”

Veronica felt her face flush. _Fuck, he was smooth._

And honestly, what a breath of fresh air after three weeks with the Calluna. They were smart, yes, and they could be entertaining to hang around with - obviously barring this whole thing with Martha - but Duke was the only one she could have an intelligent discussion about literature with, and those conversations were usually undercut by the Heathers’ need to not be seen as “nerds.”

Because gods forbid they actually prove how intelligent they were. The Westerberg hierarchy was baffling sometimes.

But this guy could casually quote obscure poetry while calling out her (admittedly shitty) behavior and play it off like it was nothing. He was the antithesis of the usual vapidity of the popular crowd that she now found herself running with.

Not to mention that jawline. _Damn_.

“Hey, sweetheart!”

But, as usual, Kurt and Ram decided to prove that they were the reason why Westerberg couldn’t have nice things: the new kid was about to get his ass kicked in public. There was a conversation taking place, but all Veronica could make out was, “Yo, Ram, doesn’t this school have a ‘no fags allowed’ rule?”

Mr. No-Name Kid shut his book and gave the two large boys a lopsided grin before loudly declaring, “Well, there seems to be an open-door policy for assholes.”

The whole dining hall stilled.

What happened next was a blur. Kurt grabbed the new kid’s shoulders and tried to hold him still as Ram threw a punch, but the kid blocked it with his book and slammed his elbow back into Kurt’s ribs. Blows were traded for a few moments until the kid staggered back with a bloody nose to match the one he had given Ram. He wiped his face and reached into his coat with a grin. He pulled out a small vial, which he threw to the ground with enough force to shatter it instantly. The two swordsmen immediately fell to their knees in a cloud of pale yellow gas. Mr. No-Name Kid, meanwhile, held his nose and nonchalantly stepped out of the fog, watching smugly as the two warriors coughed helplessly until they were able to crawl out of the cloud of quickly dissipating gas. They wheezed helplessly on the floor as a breeze carried the noxious fumes out of the open windows of the large dining hall.

There was a pause, then someone in the room whooped. It took only a moment for the rest of the gathered crowd to erupt into cheers, but the noise faded into a faint hum in Veronica’s ears.

This kid. This kid had no trouble standing up to the most dangerous bullies in the school, and had both the strength and the brains to back up his guts. Just imagining him at her side - fighting with her against the undead and chauvinist pigs alike - made her feel safer. Made her feel stronger. He oozed power and charisma, and it was nothing short of intoxicating.

“Wow, Veronica. Drool much?”

Veronica nearly jumped out of her shoes. Sometime in the confusion, the Heathers had joined her on the outskirts of the impromptu battlefield. They all watched as a pair of teachers escorted the three bloodied boys out the door.

“That’s Jason Dean,” McNamara whispered. “He’s in my Advanced Alchemy class.”

“Clearly he’s learned a lot from it,” Veronica managed. She was still  awe-struck.

Chandler scoffed. “Okay, but are we going to ignore the fact that he just released what was clearly incredibly toxic gas in the middle of the dining hall?”

“Oh, come on,” Veronica said. “It was just sulfur or something. Plenty of basic ingredients cause coughing fits. And anyway, you’ve got to admit that seeing Kurt and Ram get their asses handed to them was pretty satisfying.”

McNamara giggled, but Duke shook her head. “I’m with Heather. That could have ended way worse than it did. He’s cute, but there’s something weird about him, and I don’t trust it.”

McNamara jabbed Duke playfully in the arm. “Aww, feeling disappointed that Veronica called dibs on the cool, mysterious transfer student?”

Veronica didn’t hear the rest of the conversation - she was too busy imagining exactly what Jason Dean was capable of. (Although she was vaguely aware of Chandler glaring at her with what seemed like a mix of disgust and jealousy.)

 

\-----

 

“Alright, since most of you seem to be forgetting the most _basic concept_  of this class, we’re gonna review instead of getting ready for our next test. Hey, don’t groan at me, you guys did this to yourselves by not listening. I’m gonna reiterate this point until I’m convinced you all got it into your heads, _then_ we can move on.”

Veronica groaned. She loved Mr. De la Vega’s classes, but his lessons seemed to go over the heads of the rest of the students (probably due to his odd syntax and formidable vocabulary). It was maddening to have to review when they should have been learning new curriculum. She had a million other things to worry about without adding the fear of falling behind to the list.

“We’ve been learning the contexts behind various holy symbols, but can someone tell meexactly what gives a symbol its power?”

Veronica’s hand shot up.

“Someone besides Ms. Sawyer.”

There was a moment of silence after Veronica put her hand down before someone spoke up a few seats behind her. “Belief. A holy symbol is only as strong as the belief of the person who wields it. People assume that a cross is the most powerful symbol against vampires, but that’s only because of just how many people believe in the idea behind it. The context of the symbol matters, but if you don’t actually hold any personal stake in its meaning, it won’t do squat against the undead. You have to believe in something to use holy symbols as a weapon.”

Mr. De la Vega’s face lit up. “Nice! Good to know other people are listening. This is why I tell you all to put some actual thought into the symbols you use. ‘Pick a god and pray,’ I always say. I don’t think I’ve seen you before, Mister…?”

“Jason Dean, but just call me JD.”

Veronica almost gave herself whiplash turning around to look at him.

De la Vega nodded knowingly. “Right. You kind of made a splash earlier today, but I might look the other way if this is the kind of work I can expect from you as a student. You’ve got a lot of potential.”

 _And how,_  Veronica thought.

 

\-----

 

Preparing for the equinox was an interesting experience. Veronica had been approached with a new set of clothes - a rather short skirt and a very revealing, low-cut blouse paired with a black corset - that she was instructed to wear along with her coat to the party. When she dared to question the Heathers on whether they had been enchanted with the same spell as the coat, she was rewarded with three incredulous stares and told to, “Just worry about showing up on time.” (She assumed this counted as a “yes” but didn’t press.)

Now that the day of the bonfire had arrived, Veronica’s nerves had suddenly decided to make an unwanted appearance, and so she found herself alone on a hill overlooking the town drinking wine straight from the bottle. Not her proudest moment, yet it was what it was. She was sure there would be plenty of alcohol at the bonfire, but actually getting there was going to require some liquid courage.

“This seat taken?”

She glanced up at the familiar voice and couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto her face. “Nope,” she said, patting the ground beside her. “If you’re nice, I might even share.”

JD plopped down next to her and grinned. “What constitutes ‘Nice,’ in your book, Miss…?”

“Veronica. Sawyer.” She offered the bottle to him. “And just keep me company for a bit, I need the distraction.”

JD pulled a wooden mug out of his bag and filled it with the offered wine. He passed the bottle back and produced a small blue vial from his pocket, adding a drop of the contents to the wine and taking a swig.

“What’s that?”

“My specialty. I call it Bottled Ice. Add it to any liquid and it gets as close to freezing as it can without going completely solid.”

Veronica quirked an eyebrow. “Why make it that cold, though?”

“Did you ever eat snow as a kid? It has the same effect: numbness and a headache. Call me crazy, but I kind of love it. It’s a routine of sorts. I can take this with me anywhere, so every bar and tavern has something in common no matter where I am or what they serve.” He smiled and passed her the mug. “Try it.”

A voice in Veronica’s head told her that drinking strange potions was a seriously terrible idea, but he had already had some, so it must have been safe. She took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised by the chill it provided. She relished in the break from the late September heat until a shooting pain seized her temples.

“Son of a bitch! Why do you do this to yourself?!”

He shrugged. “It’s better than the alternative.”

“Alternative?”

“Slitting your wrists.”

Veronica must have made an extremely unpleasant face because JD immediately started blubbering apologies. “Shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to overshare. I’m not really…” He rubbed the back of his neck as he struggled to find the right words. “I’ve never actually talked about my stupid coping mechanism. It’s weird.”

Veronica wasn’t sure what came over her, but she suddenly found herself admitting, “I have a few scars on my stomach. I'm not going to judge. Everyone’s got bullshit they have to deal with. Your, uh, ‘Bottled Ice’ definitely seems like a better option than… other things.”

JD visibly relaxed. “You’re a very interesting person, Veronica Sawyer.”

“You’re one to talk. What you pulled in the dining hall the other day was pretty severe.”

“The extreme does tend to make an impression.”

“So what brings a Shakespeare-quoting badass to Sherwood? Was it just for Westerberg?”

JD shook his head. “I go wherever my dad’s business takes us. Mom’s not around to have a say anymore, so we go wherever he can find work, no matter how good or bad the local Academies are.”

“Your dad’s business?”

JD pointed to a small plot of land at the bottom of the hill. The fields were barren, free of Blight but still devoid of life, and the small, unoccupied house at the edge of the property had nearly crumbled to nothing. There was an empty wagon waiting on the road, and beside the house stood a tall man with graying hair and a bushy mustache, attending to what looked like a pile of stones.

Then the pile started moving, standing tall in a roughly humanoid shape that nearly dwarfed the one-story house, and Veronica’s jaw dropped. “Is that your dad down there?”

“Yup.”

“Your dad has control of a stone Construct?!”

“Iron, but yes.”

Veronica stared as JD’s father said something to the Construct before pointing at the dilapidated farmhouse. The creature nodded and began repeatedly slamming its giant fists into the side of the building until the structure was completely destroyed. It then began to sift through the rubble, sorting splintered wood from stone into two piles.

JD’s father pointed one open palm at the wood pile, and even from the top of the hill Veronica could see the excitement that overtook him as a gout of flames burst from his hand and ignited the pile.

“His business is tearing town old buildings?”

“And even some new ones, if someone pays him to do it. He clears the land for the owners and sells off the raw materials that can still be salvaged, which basically means anything that won’t burn. If it’s flammable, it’s gone.”

“So I gathered,” Veronica said with a grimace. Mr. Dean’s pyromancy was impressive, but there was something unsettling in how much glee he got from the destruction of the old house. She could definitely understand why JD would prefer to freeze his own brain than deal with that kind of toxicity head-on.

She glanced at the clocktower in the center of town and nearly choked on her own spit. “Shit! It’s almost six o’ clock! I’m going to be late!” She corked the wine bottle and shoved it into her bag before scrambling to her feet.

“In a rush?”

“That’s an understatement. My friends are going to kill me if I don’t meet them in time.”

He smirked. “For being late? Some friends.”

Veronica sighed. “Yeah, well, you do what you have to. It was nice talking to you, JD. I’ll see you at school?”

“See you at school.”

She waved and turned to sprint in the direction of the McNamara estate where she had planned to meet the Heathers, JD’s words ringing in her ears.

_Some friends._

Maybe he had a point, but she could worry about the implications of her friendship with the other members of the Calluna later. She had a party to prepare for.

“I should have picked something stronger than wine…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I used Shakespeare instead of Baudelaire; Baudelaire wasn't born until the 19th century, so I wanted something from earlier, and I decided to go with something that I'm familiar with. And if it wasn't clear, a Construct is essentially what most fantasy series would call a golem, but I've been trying to avoid using that particular name recently for personal reasons.
> 
> I don't like how this chapter ended but I wanted to actually finish it. Maybe I'll come back and change it later, but for the time being it shall remain crappy. Next up is the bonfire! Also, there was another cameo this chapter. Let's see who can name it first. I'm sure it's not that hard, though. ;D


	6. V. Bacchanalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which drunken debauchery leads to questionable decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. College + Thanksgiving = no time to write. But here it is, the bonfire!
> 
> Shoutout to Scouts-Mockingbird for always leaving such lovely comments and for being awesome on tumblr. <3

“You’re exactly five seconds shy of being late,” Chandler barked. “Cutting it close there, Veronica.”

Sure enough, just as Veronica stumbled panting to a halt in front of House McNamara, the clock-tower in the center of town began to signal the hour.

“Sorry,” she wheezed. “Got distracted.”

Chandler made a noise whose meaning Veronica couldn’t quite decipher, and the group began the trek toward their destination. The bonfire was to be held in a large clearing a mile or so outside of Sherwood proper. Close enough to still see the lights from the town, but far enough that the sounds of drinking and revelry would largely go unnoticed.

The conversation during the walk there mainly consisted of gossip about who would be there and how much alcohol they would need to find those people attractive, and Veronica paid it no mind unless she was directly addressed. For the sake of her sanity, she hoped that there would be exactly as much booze as her friends were predicting.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Look.”

Veronica turned her gaze in the direction Duke was pointing. In the distance there was an orange glow, and she could make out some incoherent shouting.

“They couldn’t even wait until sundown to get drunk?” McNamara scoffed.

“Whatever, the boys will be easier to deal with if they’re wasted.” Chandler flipped her hair over her shoulder and gestured for the rest of the Calluna to follow her.

Approaching the clearing, Veronica could see that the surrounding trees and rock formations had been decorated with colorful banners, and most of the people there had opted for bright clothes to match. A group of students had set up several drums in a circle on the edge of the party, with a few playing what sounded like flutes or pan pipes, along with at least two violins and… was that a fucking  _dulcimer?_ An herbal smoke hung low in the air, and the moment Veronica smelled it, her mind almost seemed to… spread out, for want of a better term. Whether it was incense or some sort of drug, she had no idea, but her anxiety slowly ebbed away with each breath she took.

“Well, hellooooo, ladies.”

And there was the anxiety again. Or was that just disgust at having a drunk Kurt slinging an arm around her shoulders?

An equally drunk Ram sidled up next to Duke and slurred, “’Eeeey, now that you’re all here, the party can reeeally start.” He put one arm around Duke’s waist and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, everybody! The Calluna are here!”

A cheer rose up through the crowd, and the drinking and dancing continued with renewed fervor. Chandler and McNamara dragged Veronica over to a table laden with food and drink while Ram led Duke away from the group for a dance. Veronica shot her a sympathetic look before turning her attention to cup Chandler had shoved into her hands.

“You look tense as hell. Take a good pull from this and I guarantee that won’t be the case.”

Veronica shrugged and did as she was told. The liquor itself was bitter and unpleasant, but the warmth that spread through her when she swallowed completely calmed her frazzled nerves. Not even whiskey had had this effect on her. She passed the cup back to Chandler with a dopey smile beginning to spread across her face.

Chandler laughed and said, “Told you so.”

“What was that?”

“Absinthe.”

With that, she grabbed Veronica’s shoulder and guided her to the other side of the clearing to chat with a group of similarly well-to-do students. Veronica’s head was swimming with color and sound, and she found herself slipping easily into the persona of one of the most popular girls at Westerberg. Suddenly the common gossip wasn’t so banal; it had become an engrossing narrative that she gladly contributed to.

The party around her faded to a haze of drinking and dancing with various people. Someone passed around a pipe filled with something that she couldn’t identify, but she was too giddy to really care what she suddenly found herself inhaling. It smelled earthy and rich, and as she passed the pipe back to the girl who had offered it, she dazedly took in the sight of the bonfire itself. Her surroundings blurred before her eyes, her focus entirely on the rising flames. She knew that there were a million things happening all around her--drinking, dancing, nudity, and there was definitely an orgy happening on the far edge of the clearing, she was sure of it--but it all melted together in the flickering glow of the fire.

Which was suddenly snuffed out as her vision filled with red. Heather Chandler grabbed her hands and dragged her out of her foggy thoughts.

“Dance with me.”

Veronica didn’t have time to process the words before she found herself doing just that.

She struggled on her feet for a moment before Heather put a hand on her hip and began guiding her in what she could only describe as a frenetic waltz. It all moved so fast, but Heather managed to help her muddle through it. They barely kept to the beat, whirling wildly and practically screaming with laughter. They were twirling, stepping in no rhythm, leaping and shouting and spinning and basking in the heat and light of the bonfire. Any thoughts of anxiety were distant memories to Veronica, who drew herself closer to Heather’s body as they continued their dance. Everything was a blur, heat and movement and Heather’s hands and the stars and the moon above them, and she was fairly sure Heather had kissed her at some point in the madness, but she was beyond caring. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. Veronica couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this free and happy.

More whirling, more laughing, and eventually she and Heather fell to the ground in a heap, leaning against each other and still giggling.

Once they had caught their breath, they stood up to brush themselves off, and, with a smile, parted ways for the moment. Heather ran off to catch up with the other Heathers, while Veronica wobbled over to the table full of food.

“Veronica!”

Veronica turned, and a mix of elation and guilt settled low in her stomach. “Hey, Martha!” she said, trying not to sound too nervous. “I can’t believe you actually came!”

“It’s exciting, isn’t it? I never go to parties, but I couldn’t turn it down.” She blushed furiously and averted her eyes from a couple that had decided to lose their clothes a few meters away, but she shook her head and laughed nervously. “I mean, that part’s a little weird, but the mood here is fun.”

“Heh, sure is.”

“I’ll be back, I’m gonna go look for Ram.”

Veronica grimaced the moment Martha looked away. This was going to be awful, but she had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it. She poured another drink for herself and looked out over the party, catching sight of the very same asshole that Martha was still in love with for some ungodly reason. He was completely wasted by this point, and was unsuccessfully attempting to woo Heather Duke.

“Ram, seriously, stop.” She ducked under his arm as he attempted to pull her close to him. “I don’t want to right now; you smell like booze.”

“Aww, c’mon, Heather!” Ram not-so-subtly slipped his arm around her waist. “Don’t be shy, everyone’s doin’ it, see?” He pointed in the vague direction of the nearest of many indiscreet couples and leaned in close. “Right here, right now. No one’s gonna care.”

Duke shoved him away. “Fuck _off_ , I’m not in the mood to deal with your whiskey dick tonight.” Veronica got the distinct feeling she was rarely in the mood to deal with much of anything about Ram, but it wasn’t really her business.

“Get off of me, jackass!”

Okay, maybe it was her business if it involved stopping him from doing… _that_ to Duke.

Veronica jogged over and shouted, “Hey, Ram!” He looked up at Veronica and she sputtered, trying to come up with a reason to get rid of him “I uh, I just saw some… some first years! Trying to sneak into the party! On the western treeline!”

Ram’s eyes widened in drunken surprise. He shoved Duke aside harder than necessary and stomped in the direction Veronica was pointing. “Not on my watch, they’re not. Where are you little pricks?! I’ll kick your sorry asses from here to next Tuesday!”

Duke huffed and dusted herself off. Veronica went to help her to her feet, but she slapped her hand away. “I didn’t need your help.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Well, I had it under control, okay?!”

Veronica raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay! Just… Just don’t worry about asking me to help you out of a jam like that in the future, alright? We’re friends now, I want to have your back when I can.”

Duke looked taken aback, as though someone actually wanting to help her avoid date-rape was a foreign concept. She stared in the direction Ram had run and sighed, “I appreciate it, but I can’t afford to scare away too many potential suitors. My mother is very picky.”

Veronica gaped. “Your mom would let _Ram fucking Sweeney_  run the duchy with you?! He’d destroy the town in days! I don’t know how, but you know he’d find a way.”

Duke shrugged. “He has money and a reputation. That’s all that matters to her. Don’t worry, I’m not __actually__ going to marry him; I’m just dating him to get my mom off my back. Once I turn eighteen, I get to pick who I go out with, and that doesn’t include idiot assholes like him.”

Veronica smiled. “Good to hear.”

 

 

Somewhere from across the clearing, a voice Veronica couldn’t place shouted, “And now, our gift to the Gods of the hunt!”

Shit. The sacrifice. Martha was going to see a live pig slaughtered. There was a very real reason Martha didn’t attend most pagan celebrations; she had only come to this one because of Ram.

A larger boy led the pig out of the dark, toward the raging fire. The cheering of the crowd didn’t faze it, and Veronica guessed that it had been drugged or hypnotized to keep things from getting too messy. By the light of the flames, she could see the pig was wearing some sort of outfit. An outfit that made it look kind of like…

She gasped. “Martha.”

 _Effigy_. That was the word that rang in her head. She rounded on Chandler. “What’s your damage, Heather?! An effigy of a living person?! Why the fuck would you think that _physically hurting someone_ is a harmless prank?!”

“Relax,” McNamara drawled, “it’s not permanent. It’ll only last three days.”

“There are spell components sewn into the clothes,” Duke chimed in. “We’re going to stick her with an Iron Gaze hex; she’ll get a headache every time someone looks directly at her.”

Chandler smirked at Veronica and said, “Maybe then the lardass will finally understand how much the rest of us have to suffer every time we’re forced see her.”

Veronica’s blood boiled. Her shoulder _burned_ as her sigil warned her, _No. Don’t. Think it through. You are human._ “Stop this right now, Heather.”

Chandler folded her arms. “Or what? Veronica, we both know how this conversation is going to end. You’re going to do what I say, and we’ll all move on with our lives.”

The burning sensation increased. It took all of Veronica’s willpower to stay human, but she felt herself changing ever so slowly. Her teeth had grown into fierce fangs, and she bared them a scant few inches from Chandler’s face. “I’m a wolf, not your lapdog. _Back. Down._ ”

“Are you challenging me? What for? She’s not your friend anymore. Hell, you should be thanking me for getting that fat bitch out of your life.”

_Fuck it._

Veronica’s fuse had been burned away, and that comment caused the powder-keg to blow. It took only a few seconds for her inner beast to surface completely. She stood to her full, monstrous height in front of the Heathers, staring down at them like insects.

The party ground to a halt around them, but Heather Chandler wasn’t perturbed - or if she was, she didn’t show it. She stepped right up to Veronica and growled, “Get the fuck back in line and maybe I won’t flay you alive.”

Veronica only growled in response and placed an over-sized, clawed hand on the dazed pig. She ripped the clothes off of its back and tossed them into the bonfire, then strode to stand protectively in front of a stunned Martha. She glanced back at her and jerked her head in the direction of Sherwood proper. The message was clear. Go home.

Martha didn’t need to hear the words to immediately heed the warning.

Veronica turned back to the Heathers, her hackles raised. The look that Chandler had fixed her with almost matched her own animalistic fury.

“I hope you’re prepared to move far, far away after this,” she hissed, “because no one at Westerberg is going to tolerate you, and once we’re through, neither will anyone else in Sherwood. You know that, right?”

The human part of Veronica’s mind wanted to say something witty, even something as simple as, “Fuck you, too, bitch,” but all she could do was roar.

So roar she did, sending globs of stringy saliva flying from her toothy maw, which splattered across Heather Chandler’s face.

The howl of fury that tore from her throat could almost rival Veronica’s. “I raised you up from fucking nothing, and this is my thanks?!” She wiped her sleeve across her face and glared into Veronica’s yellow eyes. Veronica snarled and then sprinted into the forest.

“You’re dead on Monday, Sawyer! You hear me?! _Dead!_ ”

That was the last Veronica heard before the wind whipping past her became the only sound in her head.

 

 

Her brain was still muddled from the alcohol, and her beast instincts weren’t helping matters, but she was aware enough to realize that she was in deep shit. She had taken her one chance at a good future in Sherwood and burned it to ash. She wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up on Monday morning with a silver dagger in her back. Fucking hell, tonight had gone so far south it had migrated with the summer birds.

Veronica kept running until she reached the border of the town. She stayed close to the trees and prowled quietly around the outskirts. She didn’t know what she was looking for, only that she couldn’t very well stay here. Maybe she could just keep running until she found someplace new to settle. Someplace where no one knew her name or her face. Someplace where no one knew what she was.

Not that she had any idea where she would go.

That was when the scent hit her. It was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Still, it almost seemed to be calling out to her, so she followed. She stalked slowly through the shadows as the scent grew stronger, leading her to an unfamiliar house at the edge of town. It was old, and seemed to have been uninhabited for quite some time, judging by the lack of care. But someone was living in it now, and their scent had drawn her here, whoever they were.

She crept quietly around to the front of the house, hoping for a clue as to who the house now belonged to.

Her answer came in the form of a dormant Construct.

 _JD_.

Something stirred awake within Veronica at the realization, something far more primal than even her urge to hunt. She didn’t know what it was, not in this form, but she knew she needed to see JD _now_.

Of course, he probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see her like this. She peered through the back windows to confirm which room was his, then shifted back as quickly as her drunken state of mind would allow. Once human, the base urge grew immensely, a core of heat pooling between her legs.

Veronica knew exactly what she wanted from JD.

With almost no effort, she snapped the rusted lock off of his window and crawled in. The old metal frame creaked as it opened, just loudly enough to stir the boy from his sleep.

He woke completely when he realized that someone was standing in his room.

JD shot up in bed and stammered, “Veronica? What’re you doing here?” He was wearing nothing more than a pair of ragged pants, showing off a toned stomach and a myriad of white scars across his chest and arms.

_Holy fuck he was hot._

Veronica smiled and placed a finger to his lips. “Sorry to wake you, but I had to see you. Ya see, I just fucked up my life and Heather is probably going to murder me on Monday. Sooooo now I’m here to ride you like a warhorse, because if I’m gonna die, I’m not dying a virgin.”

JD gaped, and Veronica took the opportunity to climb up on the bed. She straddled him and cupped his face in her hands. “JD, you’re just so… beautiful. I know you said that you’re numb, but that’s not true. You have… you have a soul.” She was still tipsy, and she knew she wasn’t making much sense, but she hoped JD would understand. “You have a beautiful soul in an ugly world, and I want to see all of it. Fuck the rest of the world and what everyone else thinks. They’re out there, and we’re in here.”

She unbuttoned her coat and shrugged it off.

“Can’t we make this beautiful?” she purred, running a finger down his bare chest.

JD blinked, and a sly grin crossed his features. “That works for me.”

Veronica dove forward and captured his lips is a fierce kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no smut for now. I might come back to this later and add some, but I'm not confidant in my ability to write f/m smut as of now. I just wanted to get the chapter up as soon as I could, and if I waited until I was comfortable writing hetero sex, it would have taken even longer. Hopefully I can work on that.


	7. VI. Omens and Alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica has a dream and a prank goes terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied; there is JDonica smut. Special thanks to Scouts_Mockingbird for collaborating with me on this chapter and helping to make said smut happen. <3
> 
> Brief warning for emetophobia right after the phrase "Heather, I am so sorry about this."

JD wound his long fingers into Veronica’s wild hair, holding her flush against his chest. The heat was growing between them, and she could feel his surprise melting away into something dangerous and passionate.

Veronica fed off of it, letting his smell and his taste overwhelm her keen senses and drown out the noise in her head. He didn’t seem to mind her drunken enthusiasm; instead he encouraged her eager exploration with quiet groans.

She was glad to find that he wasn’t the kind of guy to be a passive participant. He began to work on the laces of her corset, fumbling and taking entirely too long for her taste. Veronica brushed his hands aside and pulled it apart, snapping the laces.

JD’s eyes brightened and his lips curled into a smile. “Holy shit, you’re strong.” The reverence in his voice caught her off guard. Her strength was just one of many things that made her different, and here was someone who saw it and… admired her for it. The kiss she placed on his lips in response was softer than the others, with more feeling.

But he understood that softness wasn’t what she’d come here for and he didn’t linger in the kiss, breaking it so that he could pull her blouse over her head. His hands were calloused and the roughness raised goosebumps on her skin as he skimmed them over her breasts. He searched her face for signs of particular sensitivity, and applied his lips when he found one.

Veronica threw her head back, losing herself in the sensation. She ground her hips down on him, catching the desperate whine that escaped his lips and smiling as she kissed him.

Not bothering to disguise her natural agility, she leapt off him to remove her skirt. He followed her every move, devouring her with his eyes. Feeling strangely uninhibited, she stood, bathed in moonlight, and let him stare. For a long moment, they were silent as he gazed at her.

“You’re stunning.” The words were barely a breath on his lips, but they sent a shock down to her core. Enough waiting.

She climbed back on top of him, pausing only so she could pull off the loose pants he was wearing. When she sank down onto him, she let out a moan that was neither human nor entirely animal, and he shuddered, pushing deeper in response.

Their position made it easy for her to control the pace, and she immediately started moving in a frenzy.

JD gasped, and a groan caught in his throat. “Shit, Veronica… Fuck, you have to…” He gasped again and tightened his grip on her hips, “slow down.”

His hold on her hips wasn’t enough to force her to slow down, but she did anyway, allowing him to breathe. JD trailed one hand up and down the planes of her back, tracing the muscles. She jerked involuntarily, taking him deeper.

The slower pace wasn’t enough for Veronica and she gradually sped up as JD’s hands continued their exploration. He didn’t protest this time, and she moved as fast as she wanted, occasionally leaning down to kiss him or sink her teeth into the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder.

“Shit, yes,” JD murmured, tilting his head to give her better access. He scraped his nails down her back and she hummed.  

After that, there were no more coherent words, just grunts and sighs and skin and sweat. If she’d thought he was beautiful before, that was nothing compared to the sight of him losing control completely with her name on his lips.  

It was his scent that put her over the edge, the same scent that had brought her here in the first place, magnified tenfold by their closeness, overwhelming her.

JD pulled her down on top of him, holding her close. Veronica propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him. He smiled, “That was amazing.”

Veronica tried to contain her wry smile, “Yeah.” It had been fun, but rather disappointingly short for her taste.

“I’m serious, Veronica, you’re incredible.” He sounded so sincere it almost hurt. He was yet another person who would probably run screaming when he discovered the truth.

Deciding it was better to tell him than have him uncover it on his own, she gritted her teeth, “JD, there’s something you should know… I’m–”

“A werewolf?” He finished casually.

Veronica’s jaw dropped, finding herself at a loss for the first time since she’d broken in. “You knew? How?”

JD chuckled and pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. “The strength, the way you move, and then I saw you standing in the moonlight and it just… hit me. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”

She thought back through everything he’d said to her in that time. He’d called her beautiful, incredible, and he’d known. Unable to find words, she kissed him, wrapping herself around JD’s body so that they were as close as possible.

He was the first to pull away, gazing at her curiously. “You aren’t even remotely tired right now, are you?”

“Not at all,” she confessed, “and it would take a lot to make me tired.”

For the second time that night, JD surprised her. Slowly, maddeningly, he began trace his fingers down her body, drawing words in forgotten languages on her skin, until he slipped them between her folds. “I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.” His smirk sent a rush of heat straight down to her core.

 

\---

 

_“Hello, little wolf.”_

_Veronica didn’t know the man standing before her, but his eyes were a piercing gray that she could have sworn she had seen elsewhere. His voice was all-consuming yet soft, but she knew that if he wanted, it could have been deafening._

_“Who are you?” Her own voice was raspy and unfamiliar to her ears, almost as if she was speaking in her beast form._

_“I could ask the same of you.” She knew he was there, she could almost picture him, but all she could define were the eyes._

_Where had she seen those eyes before?_

_“I suspect I will be seeing you again when next I wake. Why fate has seen fit to send me a vision after so long… Well, it must be significant. Our paths are clearly intertwined.”_

_Veronica squinted at the swirling black form. He was so blurry, so indistinct, almost nothing more than mist, but still solid, somehow. “What are you talking about?”_

_“You will soon see. We both will.” The floating mass handed her a small bouquet of roses and poppies. The thorns of the roses pierced her skin, and she felt the trickle of blood between her fingers--could smell it, almost taste it--but the pain was dulled, there and also not._

_He moved in a way that might have been a low, sweeping bow, and continued, “It appears that I have seen what I must. Now, I leave you to your own vision. Until we meet again, little wolf.”_

_The form dissipated into nothing, and Veronica examined her bleeding hand. The blood that had spilled through her fingers had become a small stream, which she followed to a large pool of the stuff. In its rippling surface, her own distorted, red-tinted reflection peered back at her, accompanied by a reflection she couldn’t place. She looked up to see who was standing beside her and gasped._

_“Heather?! What are you doing here?!”_

_“Reminding you of what you are, and what I’m going to do to you.” She gently took the flowers from Veronica’s hand and lifted her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Unless you can truly prove that you’re still worthy of being part of the Calluna--and that’s looking really unlikely now that you’ve decided to sleep with the psycho--you’re screwed. Everyone is going to know that they were right to hate you before.”_

_Tears pricked Veronica’s eyes. “Heather, why do you want to hurt me so badly? What do you want?”_

_Heather grinned, but her expression quickly changed to one of horror as the ground dropped out from under Veronica’s feet._

_Veronica screamed as she plunged into the pool of blood. Red overtook her vision. The bitter, coppery taste filled her mouth. Her lungs burned as she reached desperately for the surface._

_Two hands grabbed hers--one calloused, one smooth--and began to pull, and she held on for dear life. Still suffocating, still choking, still drowning--_

“Veronica! Veronica, you’re dreaming!”

Veronica screamed and shot up in a tangle of sweaty blankets. She held a hand to her chest, gasping for air as the dream faded to reality. A warm body draped itself around her and she immediately melted into the embrace. It took a moment for her to remember _who_ was hugging her thanks to the pounding headache of her hangover, but her memories pieced themselves back together, and she sighed in relief as she leaned against JD’s chiselled chest.

It was a short lived sense of comfort, however, as she replayed the dream in her head. “That was… more than a nightmare.”

JD hesitated before he spoke up. “You think you had a vision of some kind?”

Veronica shrugged. “I can’t rule it out. I’m not perfect at divination but I know enough. How are you at interpreting dreams?”

It was JD’s turn to shrug. “Average, I guess,” he said, and pulled her near to him as he leaned against the wall. He began to absently trace the lines of her tattoo and asked, “What did you dream?”

Veronica snuggled closer to him and stared around his barren room. A single bag containing what she assumed were his clothes, a chair and a table, upon which rested his satchel, a water pitcher, and a mortar and pestle, and a few scattered belongings here and there. It truly looked like the room of someone who never stayed in one place for long.

She tried not to think too hard about the idea of him leaving. “For one thing, there was a lot of blood, so that certainly doesn’t bode well.”

“Not necessarily,” JD said, running his fingers through her hair. “Blood is our life force. It could mean passion or vitality. Unless it was really violent, anyway. Where’d the blood come from?”

“...I have no idea. A little of it came from my hand, but only as much as you’d get from pricking your finger on a few thorns. Oh, speaking of which, flowers. Red roses and poppies.”

“Well, I know that red roses mean love.” JD kissed the top of her head and she giggled. “And poppies. Red poppies mean forgiveness. Do you think you’re forgiving someone or are they forgiving you?”

“I don’t know, maybe--” Veronica nearly choked on her own saliva. “ _Fuck_. Heather. I’ve got to go apologize.” She wiggled out of JD’s arms and started gathering up the clothes that she had discarded the night before.

“What? I thought you said you were done with her.”

“And I would love for that to be the case, but if I don’t get back on the Calluna’s good side, my meltdown last night is never going to go away. They’ll tell everyone in Sherwood and spin it so that it sounds like it’s my fault, like they didn’t try to hex my friend first. It’s all going to be about me being a werewolf; no one is going to care why I shifted, only that I did.” She grabbed the blue overcoat and clutched it to her chest. “I can’t go back to that. I can’t go back to being just ‘the werewolf.’ Not again…”

JD’s hands rested on her shoulders. “Want me to come with in case things don’t go smoothly?”

“You’d do that for me? That’s…” She stood up to kiss him instead of trying to find the words for how grateful she was, but hissed in pain as the hangover made itself known once more.

“Whoa, you okay?”

Veronica pinched the bridge of her nose. “Werewolf stamina doesn’t do much for hangovers.”

JD’s face lit up. “I can fix you a cure. My dad taught me how to make it a few years ago but I’ve perfected the recipe.”

Veronica followed him to the table and watched as he got to work. He pulled several smaller pouches out of his bag, which he partially emptied into the mortar, and set to work grinding them into a thick, purple paste. It was almost hypnotic, watching him work, but she snapped out of her daze when Heather’s face popped back into her head. “Hey, could you make two doses? Heather is probably even more hungover than I am right now, and maybe I can get back into her good graces if I can fix it.”

JD nodded wordlessly. He pulled two empty glass bottles out of his bag and filled them halfway with water from the pitcher. After scraping the paste into the bottles, he gave both a good shake and set them back down on the table. In a few seconds, the potions had gone from a dark purple to bright blue. JD passed one bottle to Veronica and she downed it quickly.

In moments, her head had cleared, and she hugged JD from behind. “Thank youuuu,” she sang, kissing him on the cheek. She looked at the remaining bottle and hummed in thought.

“What?”

“I was just thinking that I’m still mad at her and I’d like to get back at her a little bit, even if she doesn’t know it. What if I hocked a phlegm globber in there?”

“Um, no. You don’t want to willingly put something that comes from your own body in a potion meant for someone else unless you want to risk giving them some control over you. I haven’t done anything that advanced yet so I don’t know exactly how it works, but I wouldn’t want to take a chance.”

Veronica shuddered at the thought of Heather having control of her because of her spit.

“We could still make it taste terrible, though, if you want. I used a type of berry as the base, which does tend to make for something tastier than what you’re going for.” He rifled through his bag and found a vial of clear liquid. “How does vinegar sound?”

Veronica snorted and kissed his forehead. “Berries and vinegar sounds absolutely disgusting.”

 

\---

 

JD stared up at the Chandler mansion in disgust, and Veronica knew exactly what he was thinking: it was ridiculously ostentatious for a house belonging to only one small family with no noble blood. It nearly rivaled Heather Duke’s home in size, and Duke literally lived in a small castle with a staff of over one hundred.

“You’re sure no one’s home?” JD asked, and Veronica nodded before pushing open the large front door, which she correctly guessed had been left unlocked by a drunk Heather.

“The rest of her family is visiting her grandmother in the next county, and she always gives the house staff the morning off if she thinks she’s going to be hungover.”

They both slipped inside and she quietly closed the door behind them. Their footsteps echoed in the large foyer, and JD followed her up the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the upper floor. She tentatively called out, “Heather? I, uh, I’m here to apologize?”

A groan came from a room near the end of the hall. “I hope you’re willing to get on your knees for this apology of yours,” came the reply, and Veronica grimaced. They crept down the hall and slowly pushed Heather’s bedroom door open.

Heather was sitting with her head in her hands at the edge of her bed in a rather revealing red dressing gown. On a wooden perch to the side of the bed, Arastra the eagle was preening her feathers. Veronica cleared her throat and both Heather and her familiar looked up at the pair. Veronica could swear the eagle wore the same expression as her mistress. “You brought the psycho with you? Wow.”

“Um, yeah. I uh…” Veronica swallowed and steeled herself. “I’m really sorry about last night. Things got heated and we both said a lot of things--”

“I’m really not interested in your excuses, Veronica,” Heather snapped. “If you can prove your loyalty I might __consider__ letting you live, but I’m going to need concrete proof that you’re useful and resourceful enough to be worth the trouble.”

Veronica’s couldn’t fight the smile that spread to her face. She looked at JD and he handed her the potion with a smirk. Turning back to Heather, she said, “I think I can give you that. Are you still hungover?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Veronica held the potion out to her. “JD made me a cure this morning and it worked wonders. I promise you’ll feel better.”

Heather scoffed. “You seriously think I’m just going to drink some random potion you give me?”

JD snickered. “I knew it was too strong for her.”

Heather glared and snatched the bottle out of Veronica’s outstretched hands. “Just give it here.” She chugged it, and immediately began gagging.

Veronica stifled a giggle, but her initial joy at a well-executed prank quickly turned to panic when the gagging didn’t stop. Heather collapsed to her knees and grasped at her throat, her eyes shining with tears.

Veronica shrieked and dropped down next to her as she choked. “Oh my god, Heather! JD, what the fuck?! That was supposed to be the same hangover cure you gave me! What happened?!”

JD looked absolutely dumbfounded for a moment before slamming his palm to his forehead. “The vinegar. Fucking shit, the vinegar! We added a new component!”

“Well, fucking do something about it!” JD began desperately rummaging through his bag while Veronica turned to Heather and stammered, “Heather, I am so sorry about this.” Then she jammed her finger down Heather’s throat.

It all came up in a wave of bright blue that splattered across the polished wood floor. Heather coughed feebly and leaned heavily into Veronica’s chest. “JD, she’s losing consciousness! Hurry!”

“I’m trying! I know for a fact that I have a Bezoar in here, give me a minute!”

“We don’t have a minute!”

JD’s eyes swiveled around the room from Veronica and Heather to the erratic, distressed eagle before they fell on the unfinished schoolwork on Heather’s bedside table. “Write a sigil of binding.”

“What?”

“Like the one on your shoulder! If we bind her soul to her body, we can buy her some more time while I find the Bezoar!”

Veronica nodded. She grabbed a piece of paper and the charcoal Heather had been using to write and scrawled the sigil that she knew so well. She placed the paper in Heather’s hand and curled both their fingers around it. “Just hold onto this, Heather. Don’t let go, alright? Just hold on and you’re going to be fine.” She rocked Heather back and forth slowly in a manner than she hoped was comforting, but froze when she felt Heather’s breathing slow to what might as well have been nothing. In fact, it felt like it __was__ nothing. “Y-you’re going to be okay, JD is going to fix this. I just need you to stay awake for me. Just stay--”

“I got it!” JD dropped down beside the girls and shoved something small and round into Heather’s parted lips. Veronica rubbed Heather’s throat and nearly burst into tears of relief when she felt her swallow. “Come on, come on, come on…”

Silence, and then Heather drew in a desperate gasp of air. The color returned to her pale face, and she panted in Veronica’s arms, trembling and stunned but very much alive.

Veronica hugged her close and JD sighed in relief. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Heather, I’m so sorry.”

Heather wrenched herself free of Veronica’s grasp and glared. If she had thought that Heather was pissed last night, now she was the embodiment of fury. (Which she had every right to be, but that didn’t ease Veronica’s terror.) “That’s what you have to say?! ‘Sorry?!’ You nearly fucking killed me, you idiots!”

Veronica blocked the incoming slap to her face, but found herself reeling in pain regardless as the force of the blow threw her clear across the room.

She hit the stone wall with a thud and fell gasping to the floor, trying to regain the air that had been knocked from her lungs. She winced and looked dazedly up at Heather, who was staring at her hand in abject horror.

“What… the __fuck__ did you do to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you thought this was just going to be a fantasy retelling of the original story? Nah, fam, I've got bigger plans. Now we come to the REAL plot. :3c And yes, I did borrow the "universal poison cure" aspect of Bezoars from Harry Potter.


	8. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are other players in this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but hopefully the important plot insights should tide you all over for the moment. I hope to get the next full chapter out this weekend.

At a manor in the duchy of Sherwood, a girl died and was revived.

At a manor in the duchy of Guernsey, gray eyes snapped open for the first time in years.

A clawed hand slammed against the wooden lid above the head of its owner, sending it flying open as the coffin’s inhabitant shot bolt upright form his slumber and stared wild-eyed around the room. A ragged scream tore from his dry throat.

**_“Anders!”_ **

Panicked footsteps echoed through the halls until the door slammed open, revealing a bedraggled man in his forties. “Lord Deverell!” He ran forward and pulled the collar of his shirt down, exposing his neck. His master dove forward and buried his fangs deep into his flesh, and Anders hissed in pain as the creature slaked his thirst.

The vampire stepped back after a few moments and wiped his mouth. “Forgive my lack of manners,” he said, and licked a bit of stray blood from the back of his hand.

His servant’s fingers shook as he readjusted his shirt. “N-no trouble at all, Master. It’s good to see you awake again.”

Lord Deverell looked over is most faithful servant and hummed. There seemed to be streaks of gray in his mousy hair, and his skin was… loose. thin. “You look different.”

The man shrugged and fiddled with his sleeves with trembling hands.

“How long?”

Anders looked at the floor. “C-come again, sir?”

“How long have I been asleep?” When no answer came, the vampire seized his servant by the lapels of his jacket and snarled, his eyes flashing red. “I will not ask again: _how long have I been asleep?_ ”

“...Almost eighteen years, my lord.”

Lord Deverell exhaled slowly and released the man. “The spells are getting longer. My blood is weakening.”

“What do you suppose woke you this time?” Anders ventured.

Deverell sighed and stalked down the empty hall, his servant following closely. His footfalls echoed off of the stone walls as he reacquainted himself with each room of his grand home. Anders had done an impressive job of keeping the place clean; eighteen years and not a speck of dust to be found.

He glided up the steps to the highest balcony of the manor, keeping to the shadows provided by the early morning, and stared out over the Blighted valley below. He sniffed the air and murmured, “That was not simply a dream.”

“...Sir?”

“A child of my lineage has awakened,” Deverell said. “A half-breed. My blood courses through their veins.”

“A child? Yours?”

Deverell shook his head. “A grandchild. I have no surviving children. Alistair was the last of my brood.” He smirked. “Remind me, how did he die?”

He could hear the smile in his servant's voice. “Staked through the heart with his pants around his ankles.”

Deverell chuckled. “Hardly worthy of my legacy, the fool. But it seems he left someone behind. An heir. He may prove useful yet, even in death.” He sniffed the air once more, then turned to face Anders and barked, “You have a mission.”

Anders knelt before him. “Anything you ask, my lord.”

“I had a vision. A werewolf. The thread of her fate must be entwined with that of my heir. If we find her, we shall also find the last of my bloodline. You will search for her while I regain my strength. I will tell you what to look for before you leave. Send word back to me by whatever means necessary when you find her. When this is done, you shall have your promised immortality.”

The man couldn’t hide his glee. “I am at your command, my noble lord! Where shall I begin my search?”

Deverell turned back to the sprawling, dead landscape before him and stared out toward the western horizon. “Sherwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every story needs to good villain, no?


	9. VII. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are consequences to drinking strange potions, and an agreement is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd post this over the weekend, so apologies for the delay. I'm really happy with this chapter so hopefully the extra time spent on it was worth it.

“You tried to kill me!”

“I told you, it was an accident!”

Veronica was just about ready to start ripping her own hair out; despite all of the evidence in her favor, she __still__ couldn’t convince Heather that the failed potion hadn’t been an attempt on her life. Arastra had flown out the open window as soon as her her mistress had proven herself to be alright, and Veronica didn’t blame the eagle for wanting to escape this argument that was going _absolutely fucking nowhere._

“Then why the fuck did trick me into drinking poison?!”

“I didn’t trick you! It was supposed to be a hangover cure, but something went wrong with the potion!”

JD chimed in, “In retrospect, adding a new component to a potion without checking the results was maybe not my best idea.”

“JD, that is _not_ as reassuring as you think it is.”

“Well, I--”

“Fuck off, boy toy,” Heather snapped. “We’re talking.”

“But--”

“JD, please, just--” Veronica let out a long suffering sigh. “Just let me handle this, okay?”

JD backed slowly out of the room with a quiet, “See you on Monday, Veronica?” which Veronica answered by blowing him a kiss.

Heather gagged for a very different reason. Then she pulled Veronica close by the collar of her shirt and forced her to look her in the eye. “What did he mean when he mentioned vinegar earlier? What exactly did you do? I want answers and I want them now.”

Veronica took in a deep breath and steadied herself before answering. “We were making a hangover cure for you, because I wanted to apologize. When we realized that it actually tasted okay, we decided to add vinegar just to make it gross. Petty, I know, but you kind of pissed me off last night, so I figured a little prank--”

“ _I_  pissed _you_ off?!”

Veronica twisted free of Heather’s grip and pushed her away.“Yeah, you did! You tried to physically hurt one of my best friends!”

Heather shoved back, practically sending her flying. “You’re a member of the Calluna now! She’s not your best friend anymore!”

“Really, Heather? Really? Then who is it? Please tell me, because I would __love__ to know! I certainly hope you don’t think it’s you, because right now you’re kind of acting like my worst enemy!”

“Same difference!”

“ _ _And that’s the problem!__  Everything is a fight to you! Everything is a competition! Even fucking friendship! Just because I have other friends doesn’t mean I’m not still friends with you and Heather and Heather!”

"Well, if we’re not best friends, then what the hell was last night?! Was that just a game to you?!”

“It doesn’t matter what anything was!” Veronica's rage was so hot that she felt her sigil might just burn right through her clothes. “You tried to hex my friend, and now you have the balls to say that _I’m_  the one who was in the wrong?!”

“You literally _poisoned_ me, you stupid fuck!”

Veronica roared and slammed Heather into the wall, now clawed hands in a vice grip on the collar of her robe. “I also _saved_ you, you goddamn bitch! And you know what? With the shitty way you treat people the people around you, I don’t think anyone else would have done that! I could have let the poison kill you, but I didn’t, because for some bizarre reason, I actually care about you and didn’t want you to die! Are you fucking satisfied?!”

Heather opened her mouth to retort, but she closed it again when no words came to her. Anger flashed behind her eyes, tinged with shock and what Veronica thought might have been a little bit of fear. “Whatever,” she huffed, staring at the floor.

Veronica’s eyes widened as she realized what she had just done; _she had had the last word in an argument with Heather Chandler_.

She was suddenly aware of the fact that her body was still trembling with the urge to shift, and she abruptly let go of Heather’s robe before stalking over to the far wall. She let her head rest against the cold stone, trying to ground herself, to will herself back into being fully human. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she groaned. “That was more violent than it needed to be.” She turned back around once she was sure that her human side was back in full control and looked imploringly at Heather. “Heather, I’m sorry for losing control last night, and I’m _really_ sorry for the potion. I swear, I didn’t want to hurt you, it was just supposed to be a prank.”

Heather shifted awkwardly form foot to foot. (Who knew the word ‘awkward’ could ever apply to the mighty Heather Chandler?) “Yeah, well… _I_  can’t exactly give you shit about pulling a prank, can I?”

Veronica smiled despite herself; Heather seemed to be off the warpath. “No, not really.”

“And anyway…” Heather flexed her fingers experimentally and grabbed the chair by her vanity, effortlessly lifting it above her head and setting it back down with one hand. “I don’t know what you did to me, but being able to do this is kind of awesome, so if you can help me figure out exactly what happened, I think I might forgive last night’s little… faux pas.”

“Wait, really? You’re being serious?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Ronnie. I’m not always this generous. You’re on thin ice right now. One more slip-up, and I’ll ruin you. Got it?”

“Got it. I… I won’t let you down.”

“You mean you won’t let me down _again_. Now get out before I change my mind about being nice.”

Veronica began to walk away, but stopped when Heather spoke up once more. “Also, it may have backfired a little, but uh, thanks for the hangover cure. I definitely don’t have one anymore.”

Veronica smiled and waved shyly before high-tailing it out of the Chandler manor.

 

\---

 

Heather stared after Veronica’s retreating back with a frown. This whole situation had left a bad taste in her mouth, one that had nothing to do with vinegar.

And certainly nothing at all to do with the fact that Veronica and the long-coat psycho were probably an item. No. Absolutely fucking not.

She walked over to the disgusting puddle that contained the bright blue remnants of the potion and flicked her wrist, banishing the mess to the rubbish heap in her private greenhouse. There was an unfamiliar energy in her muscles, a buzzing like a swarm of insects beneath her skin, and she desperately needed to release it. With a huff, she opened her wardrobe and picked out a simple blouse, a pair of thick trousers, and leather boots. She changed quickly and stalked out of the manor to her greenhouse.

Veronica’s words were lingering in her mind. No one had ever given her so much shit for a stupid prank. And then she had implied that there were people who would have let her asphyxiate on the floor if they had been in Veronica’s place. Followed by her saying that she _cared_ about Heather, which seemed to go against her previous statement about there being people who would like to see her dead, but she seemed to mean it.

A voice in her head told her that Veronica had a point, but she ignored it.

Heather pushed open the glass door of the greenhouse, the plants rustling as they bowed toward Heather in greeting. She pulled an apron off of a hook on the door frame, and tied it on as she made her way toward the row of flowers that she grew purely for their looks. She held out her hands as she walked, letting her fingers brush against the leaves and tendrils of her children. She exhaled slowly, reveling in the sensation of each plant’s life-force.

The rose bush seemed to call to her the loudest, and she answered, taking in the sight of the red blooms with a smile. She cradled a small, stunted bud in her hand, and willed it to grow with its brethren. It obeyed, beginning to slowly spread its petals

Heather poured more of her energy into the bud, trying to push away the thoughts that had invaded her head. The shock of her near-death experience had passed with ease - she had already had a few close calls during field training exercises at Westerberg, so coming close to death wasn’t so strange.

Veronica’s involvement was another story. She had been disappointed in her behavior the night before, but somehow, despite the events of the morning, she was more than happy to forgive her. She didn’t like how quick she had been to do so, though. Something about that girl made her soft, and it was absolutely infuriating to find herself dropping her guard around her. How the fuck had Veronica managed to get under her skin?

And why did seeing her with Jason Dean piss her off _so goddamn much_?

Heather growled in frustration, which quickly turned into a yelp as the flower in her hand was engulfed in flames.

She hastily snuffed the fire between her palms, and frowned when she opened her hands to reveal that the once healthy bud had become a burnt out husk, so dark it almost looked Blighted. She crushed the brittle, gray petals between her fingers and sprinkled the ashes at the base of the rosebush. Scowling, she examined her soot-covered hands.

So it wasn’t just her body that Veronica had screwed up; her magic had been affected, as well.

Or was it just her pesky emotions getting the better of her?

“Fucking hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: worldbuilding and even more of Heather Chandler disliking the Feelings™ she's suddenly having.


	10. VIII. Searching for Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some discoveries are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys. To make up for it, have some delicious angst!

Veronica walked into Westerberg on Monday morning half-expecting to be assaulted, but it seemed that Heather Chandler had already made her decision to forgive her known throughout the school. A few odd looks at the start of the day was all she had to deal with, and the relief she felt was palpable.

Duke approached her at the end of their only shared class, and pulled her aside as the rest of the students filed past. “Skip your first class after lunch; we’re meeting in the gardens. Heather Chandler says to bring Dean with you. She didn’t say why.”

Veronica nodded. “Hey, uh, sorry about losing my temper on Saturday. I’m not sorry for being angry, but I should have been more rational.”

“It happened, and now it’s over,” Duke said, shrugging. “I don’t know what you said to Heather on Sunday morning, but apparently you’ve been forgiven, so let’s just move on.”

“Just like that?”

“What, do you _want_ me to be pissed off? Because I can be.”

“No, no! Sorry, I’m just surprised.”

Duke hummed. “Just make sure long-coat shows up.”

A few hours later found Veronica and JD walking with trepidation to their appointed meeting place. The Heathers were seated on a bench under the gazebo, and looked up when JD cleared his throat.

All three stared at them with varying degrees of anger. McNamara’s hands were balled into tight fists as she leaned protectively against Chandler, Duke looked oddly disappointed, and although Chandler’s fury had calmed from the inferno of the day before, it was clearly still burning.

Veronica grinned sheepishly. “I guess she finally told you all the details about our, uh, misunderstanding yesterday?”

“She told us enough,” McNamara said.

Duke scoffed. “And here I thoughtI would be the one fending off assassination attempts.”

“Shut up, Heather.”

“Sorry, Heather.”

“But,” Chandler held up her hand, “considering their stupidity somehow made me stronger, we’re going to forget about it. Clean slate. However, I’m still confused about what exactly you did, and we’re going to figure it out.” She gestured to the bench opposite, and Veronica and JD sat down.

There was an awkward pause before Veronica spoke up. “Exactly how much detail did you give, Heather? They need to know all of the facts if we want their input to be worth anything.”

“Just the basics,” Chandler said. “Your hangover cure royally sucked and nearly killed me, but you managed to pull me back.”

“We didn’t just ‘pull you back’, we performed magic,” JD said. “Well, Veronica did.”

McNamara raised one eyebrow. “What kind of magic?”

“A sigil,” Veronica said. “I drew a Sigil of Binding, like the one on my shoulder, so we could bind Heather’s soul to her body until JD was able to find a poison antidote. Once she took it, she was back to normal. Then she slapped me so hard I went flying and hit the opposite wall, and that is why we’re here.”

Duke and McNamara stared. Duke spoke first. “That’s… a lot more than what Heather told us. Aside from the fact that she’s still alive, that almost sounds like minor necromancy. I feel like it was the binding that caused this, not the potion.”

“How could that happen, though?” said McNamara. “Strength and binding aren’t similar enough concepts to have similar symbols. That’s the only way I could imagine Veronica making such a huge mistake.”

Veronica smiled at the compliment, and looked at Chandler. “Is there anything new besides the strength?”

Chandler nodded. “I’m faster, including my reflexes, and my magic is…” She paused, closing her eyes in thought. “It’s more potent, but also… volatile. My emotions have always played a part in my magic, but this is different. It almost feels like my physical body can’t totally contain it anymore.”

Duke’s eyes widened. “Back up for a minute. You saved Heather, but are you sure she wasn’t dead at any point? Even for a second or two?”

Veronica answered, “She stopped breathing for a few seconds, but she started again right away, so I didn’t think about it.”

Chandler looked at Duke suspiciously. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I wasn’t entirely wrong about necromancy.”

The group exchanged wary glances. “What do you mean?” JD ventured.

Duke began digging through the bag at her feet. “We were just talking about something like this in one of my classes. It was only a theoretical lesson, but this sounds so similar…” She pulled out a small book bound in black leather and flipped hurriedly through the pages until she found what she was looking for. “Here. There’s an obscure ritual - a kind of pseudo-necromancy - that involves binding a person’s soul to their body, letting the body die, and immediately reviving them. But it shouldn’t work on a normal human, so it doesn’t quite add up…”

“What is it supposed to work on, then?” Chandler said.

Duke bit her lip and looked in turn at the four expectant faces staring at her. She swallowed and said, “It’s a ritual to awaken a dhampir.”

The air itself almost seemed to still.

“A dhampir?” McNamara repeated cautiously. “As in, a vampire-human hybrid?”

“That’s what Professor Abronsius was saying. A dhampir lives as an ordinary human unless this ritual is performed. Although the one described in class involved a lot of incantations and ceremony, but the bare essentials - binding the soul and reviving the body - that’s what you guys did. But that can’t be right, because there’s no way either of your parents could be vampires.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” JD said.

The Heathers glared at him, and Veronica held her hands up, hoping to diffuse any unnecessary drama before it happened. “He’s new here! He doesn’t know!” She turned to JD. “Chandler’s mom was a famous vampire hunter. You travel a lot, so I don’t know if you’ve heard of Lady Beatrice, but--”

“Lady Beatrice is your _mom_?!” He stared at Heather for a moment before shaking himself back to the present. “Okay, you’re right. There is no way. Like Veronica said, my family travels a lot, and we saw her once. Lady Beatrice _wasn’t_ a vampire. But what about your dad?”

Chandler gave a wry laugh. “Please. For one thing, my mom wouldn’t have married him, she would have staked him. And for another, he has no spine whatsoever. He was whipped for my mom, and he’s even worse when it comes to my step-mother. If he were a vampire, he would have snapped her like the twig she is and made it look like an accident at the first opportunity.”

There was a long silence after that. Veronica looked over the rest of the group, all lost in thought with furrowed brows. One small misstep with a potion, and suddenly they were dealing with accidental necromancy and possible vampire involvement. Something significant was happening, that much they could tell, but the knowledge they had was severely limited. It was maddening, knowing that the answers they were looking for were just out of their grasp.

Duke was the one who eventually broke the silence. “You could always check your mom’s hunting journals, right? If anyone would know about this stuff, it would’ve been her.”

“Can’t,” Chandler said. “They’re all with the rest of the things that got locked away after she died. I don’t get the key to that safe-room until I turn eighteen.”

McNamara laughed. “Since when do you care about following the rules?”

“I literally _just said_  that I don’t have the key,” Chandler snapped. “I’ve been trying to get Dad to give it to me early for years, but like I said, my step-mom has him whipped, and she’s a petty bitch about my mom’s legacy, so I haven’t been able to convince him. No key, no journals.”

There was another pause, then JD murmured, “I know how to pick locks.”

All four girls turned to look at him with equal amounts of shock, admiration, and disgust.

“How long will it take you to teach me?” Chandler asked.

 

\---

 

Dean may have been a psychotic almost-murderer, but Heather had to admit that he was a good teacher. Three days of fiddling with various locks with the weirdo and she was already as good as him, by his own admission.

Now it was time to put it into practice.

She waited until the stroke of midnight, at which point she knew the rest of the household would be in bed, then slipped out of her room with a large empty bag and crept through the quiet house toward her mother’s study.

Heather had been in that room only once before. When she was five, she had cried and asked Mommy why she would leave for days or weeks at a time, returning battered and bloody from ‘adventures’ that neither of her parents would explain.

Her mother had picked her up and carried her into the room at the end of the third floor hallway. Heather had stared in wonder at all of the potions, weapons, books, trophies, and various other paraphernalia of her mother’s profession.

“I leave because there are monsters in this world,” she had said. “They’re dangerous, but not everyone is strong enough to protect themselves, so hunters and warriors go out to help them. That’s what I do. I’m a monster hunter.” Then she had playfully bared her teeth at Heather. “My specialty is vampires.”

Twelve years later, Heather was finally returning to the room where she had learned exactly who and what her mother was. A warrior, a hunter, a teacher, and a savior.

Hopefully a savior who took good notes with legible handwriting.

Heather finally made it to the old study, untouched for years. She knelt in front of the door and pulled her makeshift lock-picking tools out of their hiding place in her hair. After several failed attempts and whispered swear words, the tumbler finally clicked into place. She cautiously began to push the door open, wincing as the hinges creaked loudly. A quick silencing charm on the door, and she pushed it open just enough for her to slip inside. She summoned a small wisp of light in her hand, and looked around the room.

Clearly, her step-mother had made sure that no one entered, as the dust that had gathered was so thick that it rendered the entire room a muted gray version of itself.

Aside from the dust, everything was as Heather remembered it. Her mother had always been meticulous about keeping everything organized, and so every item was carefully labeled and resting in its appointed spot. One wall was lined with bookshelves, while the opposite side of the room held her desk and the display cases filled with trophies and artifacts from her hunts. Lady Beatrice’s weapons lined the wall directly across from the door, mounted with care after her death: two pistols, a rifle, an enormous axe, five swords of various types, a belt of throwing knives, and an ornate crossbow, all with plaques displaying their names.

Her mother was definitely a jack-of-all-trades when it came to combat, that was for damn sure.

Heather shook herself out of her reverie. It was time to get down to the matter at hand. She began examining to the bookshelves, brushing away the dust from her mother’s meticulous labels. Finally, she found a shelf simply labeled ‘Journals’, lined with exactly thirty numbered leather notebooks, and she carefully placed the books into the bag she had brought. She wondered briefly if anyone would notice that the books were gone before remembering that no one had been in this room for seven years.

Why should the rest of her family start caring about her mother again now?

She snuffed out the light in her palm, slipped back through the door, and closed it behind her. She wondered about trying to re-lock it, but decided that no one would notice that either, and retreated back to her own bedroom.

Once her own door was locked behind her, she dumped the journals onto her bed and began skimming the entries in chronological order, searching for anything relevant. Her eyes were trained for the words ‘dhampir’ or ‘awakened’ but found nothing, and she cursed as she realized that she would have to read every entry in its entirety.

She did not sign up for this much extra homework.

 

_**Entry #19** _

_**Target:** Vampire, bat-like._

_**Method of Execution:** Decapitation._

_A fairly straightforward mission. Something had been mutilating the livestock in the town of Eaton. They all knew it was a vampire; even the most backwater townspeople can tell what unexplained blood-loss in their cattle means. It was roosting in an abandoned farmhouse. The people were right to be wary of that building; they had been warning their children to stay away from it for months. I suspect the vampire used to be the previous tenant of the home, before being Turned._

_The kill itself wasn’t anything spectacular. After a short fight, I managed to get in a good shot that crippled its wing, then finished the job when it hit the ground. It took a while to make that shot, though. I’ll have to stick with the crossbow until I can find a reputable gunsmith to take a look at the firing action on Sunstrike._

 

Heather had to assume that Sunstrike was her mother’s rifle. At the very least, the entries were excellent insights into how professional monster hunters operated, and shed new light on the side of her mother that she had seen only a fraction of.

 

**_Entry #20_ **

_**Target:** Demon, fire aligned._

_**Method of execution:** Stabbed through chest._

_Called to investigate suspected demonic activity in the town of of Bellevue, including several burned homes and fields. Finally coaxed the truth out of a local; this was the result of a summoning gone wrong. The mayor had tried to summon a spirit to protect the village from frequent bandit raids, but had no prior knowledge of magic, and mistakenly called forth a demon instead of a benign spirit. This is why we need to keep building more Academies. Reckless reliance on magic is too common._

_Found the demon hiding in the ashes of a burnt-out house. It put up a fight, but I eventually sliced through the back of its knee. It collapsed, and I was able to deal the finishing blow._

_I stuck around for a few days until the bandits showed up again. Bellevue should be bandit-free for at least a few years._

_**** _

**_Entry #29_ **

_Target: Vampire, human-passing._

_Method of execution: Crossbow bolt with holy symbol etched into its side_

**_Entry #35_ **

_**Target:** Human necromancer, 20+ risen corpse minions._

_**Method of execution:** Necromancer shot with Sunstrike, minions collapsed following his death._

**_Entry #47_ **

_**Target:** Werewolf._

_**Method of execution:** Silver-tipped crossbow bolt._

 

Still nothing about dhampirs, and therefor nothing useful, but after the first fifty or so entries, Heather realized that she was just as engrossed in her mother’s journals as Heather Duke or Veronica often were with their stupid novels.

_**Entry #163** _

_**Target:** Vampire, human passing, 10 Blighted servants._

_**Method of execution:** Vampire forced into direct sunlight. Blighted humans shot point blank._

_I was called in to take down a vampire praying primarily on children, but the village that put out the call was completely ravaged by the time I got there. There were some survivors hiding out in cellars, but there’s nothing left for them here. The land is so deeply Blighted that it may take years to become livable again._

_The vampire was too powerful for a direct confrontation, but the cocky bitch had no foresight. I was able to take her out by sneaking a small Star of David into her coffin when she left her lair to feed. She had no place to hide when the sun came up._

_As for her servants… I’ve never seen such severe Blight in a human before. Their eyes were… hollow. There was no hunger, no bloodlust, no shred of emotion or even base instinct. They had nothing left inside of them, physical or spiritual. Dried out husks, really, gray and withered, only following the will of their mistress because they had nothing else. Their deaths were as quick and painless as I could manage._

_I pointed the survivors in the direction of the nearest trade settlement. God forgive me for coming too late to save more of them, and let that fucking monster rot in the pits of hell where she belongs._

__

Heather’s heart ached. She had always known you couldn’t save everyone - that was a lesson that her mother had taught her early - but seeing it written out so plainly in her own mother’s hand put it into sharp reality.

Seeing _anything_ in her mother’s hand after so long may have played a part, too. Seven years, and the entries still felt fresh. It was still her mother’s voice, thoughtful and eloquent but not above the odd swear or two. Just as she remembered her. As though she were still alive.

__

**_Entry #304_ **

_**Target:** Vampire, human-passing_

_**Method of execution:**  Stake through heart._

_Easiest mission I’ve had in years. I was hired to find and dispatch a vampire praying on the town of Urichsville, chiefly targeting young women. My investigation led me to the ruling Baron, Alistair Brecht. He wasn’t terribly obvious to the untrained eye, but the signs were there, so I’m a little surprised that not one person in that town suspected him. He clearly had a lot of influence._

_Once again, I have found proof that, alive or not, most men can’t be bothered to show caution when propositioned with sex. I’m sure he thought I’d be a quick fuck and an easy meal all in one. All it took was getting into bed with him with a stake strapped to my thigh. I may have to use this trick more often._

_Like mother, like daughter,_ Heather thought with a wry grin. No better way to get a guy to do what you want then to sleep with him.

Wait, when the hell had she started crying? It must have been from all the dust. She brushed the tears away, and gasped when she read the next entry.

__

**_Entry #304a_ **

_Two weeks later and I’m fairly certain I’ve fallen pregnant by none other than the Baron. Seems he had the last laugh in the end._

_I’ve put some thought into it, and I’m going to keep the child. Yes, there’s the matter of vampire lineage, but as long as they aren’t awakened, it shouldn’t be a problem for them. I only hope my family’s magic doesn’t skip a generation. Keeping the child from following in my footsteps will be nearly impossible, and the more advantages they have, the safer they’ll be._

_I suppose my hunts will have to be put on hold until I’m finished nursing._

__

“Holy shit,” Heather breathed. She dogeared the page and continued, unable to tear her eyes away from the dry pages for more than a moment.

__

_**Entry #304b** _

_I’ve settled in Sherwood with one Richard Chandler. He’s not the brightest, but I know he’ll be a good father. The local Academy, Westerberg, has offered me a teaching position, which I plan to accept. Barring anything unexpected, this will likely be my last entry for the next nine months._

__

Sure enough, the next entry had slightly different handwriting, obviously a sign of the passage of time, and the entry wasn’t labeled.

__

_I have a daughter. Her name is Heather, and I’ve never loved anyone more deeply._

__

There were tear-stains on the page, and Heather no longer made any attempt to stifle her own, or to try to justify them to herself as allergies.

Heather Chandler was sobbing. God damn it, she missed her. She missed her, and that frustrated her to no end. She was gone, and Heather had done her mourning. It shouldn’t have hurt this much, but no matter how she tried to push it back, to readopt her cold and bitchy persona, her emotions were stronger than her own self-discipline.

She sniffed and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, still determined to find answers.

__

**_Entry #305_ **

_**Target:** Ghouls, x14._

_**Method of Execution:** Immolation._

_My first mission since Heather’s birth. An easy kill; one flaming crossbow bolt in the middle of a dry, Blighted field, and every last ghoul went up in smoke with the crops._

_Couldn’t shake the fear of leaving Heather alone. Someday this job will probably get me killed, but for her sake, I hope that day is a long way off._

_I don’t think I’ve ever truly feared death until now._

__

Heather choked back a sob. _Get it together. Research now, cry later._  She shook her head vigorously and returned to her reading.

__

**_Entry #343_ **

_**Target:** Werewolf._

_**Method of execution:** Silver bullet._

_There’s been an incident in my own town. Three girls were attacked by what they said was a large wolf. One girl managed to draw the beast away from her friends while they ran for help, and was dragged into the forest for her trouble. Thankfully I happened to be close enough to hear the screaming._

_I found the beast only a few minutes after the attack. The girl was still screaming, and it was too distracted by its would-be meal to hear me approach. One shot between the shoulders and it went down._

_Thank god for Pauline’s healing magic, or that girl would be dead. As it is, I have no idea if she’ll ever have a normal life. A bite doesn’t always mean being turned, but her arm was absolutely mangled, so I’m almost certain she’s contracted lycanthropy. I’ll have to wait until the first full moon to see if anything awakens in her. After that, I can only guess._

_Those girls were Heather’s age, and that frightens me to no end._

__

_Veronica_. Now Heather vaguely remembered that day; her mother coming home looking more haggard than she had ever seen her, holding her close and insisting, “I don’t care that your friends are going to be here soon. I want a hug.”

Heather missed her tight hugs.

__

**_Entry #343a_ **

_I paid a visit to the Sawyer household this afternoon. The full moon was two nights ago, and as expected, I heard the howl of a werewolf. I decided to let the girl have some time to rest after her first transformation. Her parents immediately let me in, and their daughter was sitting on the floor surrounded by paper and pencils. I’ve never seen a child so young with such a talent for sigils. She told me she wanted to seal her lycanthropy away, to have control over it._

_I can’t deny it; she’s a prodigy. She already had a near-perfect binding sigil ready. I wasn’t sure how she was going to use it, but the girl is clever; she wants to have it tattooed over the scar left by the werewolf._

_I’ll have to check in from time to time to see if it’s successful, but I’m not particularly worried. She’s sharp as a tack._

__

**_Entry #343b_ **

_Veronica Sawyer is doing well. The sigil isn’t perfect - no sigil is - but I’ve never seen a lycan with such superb control over their transformations. I’ve informed the staff at Westerberg of her talent, and they’ve assured me that she’ll be admitted with no issues when she’s fourteen._

_I eagerly await the chance to teach her._

__

Heather smiled. Veronica would have been even more of a teacher’s pet with Lady Beatrice than she was to the other teachers at Westerberg. _Shit, that would’ve been fucking insufferable._

She flipped to the next page, and her eye was immediately drawn to a new addition to her mother’s usual format.

**_**** _ **

**_Entry #354_ **

_**Target:**  Two demons, fire aligned and darkness aligned, respectively._

_**Partner:** Eleanor Hopper._

_**Method of Execution:** Dismemberment and subsequent blood loss, shot in head, respectively._

_I usually make it a point not to work with partners, but the client wanted both of us, and I admit, this one sounded challenging. Eleanor Hopper (insisted I call her ‘El’) is a very promising young hunter, just out of her final Academy year; I’ll have to remember to point clients her way if I ever manage to retire._

_She doesn’t keep her status as a dhampir a secret, which helped me feel much better about Heather’s future. I’m not sure when I’ll tell her, but if she chooses to be awakened… Well, it’s certainly not nearly so much doom and gloom as I had predicted. From what she tells me, they’re usually drawn to hunting jobs simply out of boredom. There aren’t a lot of professions that utilize a dhampir’s abilities, and all of that power can feel overwhelming if pent up for too long. In her words, “It builds up, and you have to let it out somehow.” She compared it to the catharsis of punching something to relieve stress._

_The demons themselves weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but they were incredibly strong, and I admit, I was glad to have help. I took care of the fire demon while she focused on the dark one. The fight was long, but I eventually exhausted it enough to get in a good axe swing. Nearly severed its arm, and it quickly bled out._

_El ended up working in almost total blindness from the demon’s shadow magic, but her other senses are heightened by her vampire blood as much as her eyesight, and she pulled off an impressive head-shot despite the darkness._

_Heather already has a great aptitude for magic; I can only imagine what she would be capable of if she chose to be awakened. I just hope she doesn’t make the decision rashly._

_Eighteen. I’ll tell her when she’s eighteen._

__

So that’s what the burning energy was, roiling and writhing like snakes beneath her skin: raw vampiric power.

She continued reading, and her heart dropped when she realized that she had reached the last entry. She took a deep breath, and braced herself before forcing herself to take in the words.

__

**_Entry #390_ **

_**Target:** Lich, small army of various undead._

_**Planned method of execution:** Phylactery to be destroyed by any means necessary, undead will likely fall after their master._

_I suspect this will be my final entry. Several hunters have gathered to face the lich Krolock, knowing that it may be our end, but for the sake of every living human we know, and countless others that we don’t, we have to stop him. This thing’s power has grown too much to ignore, and when we strike him down, he’ll likely take as many of us with him as he can. If I’m wrong, it’ll be a funny story, and I’ll continue my journaling as usual. If not…_

_Heather, I leave everything of my trade to you, these journals included. I hope they provide guidance for you in the future. Of course, I assume you’ve read every entry, and now know about Alistair Brecht. Forgive me for never telling you; I never wanted you to have the face that truth until you were older._

_There is a ritual to awaken the vampire blood within you. I’m sure Professor Abronsius at Westerberg could help you, but you’ll have to approach him yourself; he has no idea. No one does. This is your secret until you choose to share it with those you trust. Whether you decide to continue living as a human or to awaken as a dhampir is your choice, and yours alone._

_I love you and your father so much. Stay safe, my darling Heather._

 

That… that was it? ‘I love you and goodbye?’ A fucking ‘if you’re reading this, I’m dead,’ note like in Heather’s stupid books? ‘Make good choices, I’m off to die!’ And then to top it off by calling Richard her father after _just_ admitting that that was untrue?

Heather flung the final journal against the wall hard enough to shake a bit of dust loose from the ceiling, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Everyone was asleep, anyway.

What the hell was she suppose to do with this? Screw the potion and screw the dhampir bullshit. Her mother lied to her for ten goddamn years and then she just left her. She _left her._

A quiet screech alerted her to Arastra’s presence next to her, and she reached out to stroke her soft feathers. The eagle lovingly nibbled at her palm and pressed her head against it.

Heather reveled in the comfort of her familiar, and she cried, freely and openly, in anger and shock and sadness and fear of the unknown. A restless sleep finally found her huddled among the old books, clinging to the aging leather and the lingering scent of her mother’s rose perfume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering, I used the names of actual towns in Ohio for Lady Beatrice's journal entries. Also, I listened to Red Like Roses Pt 2 a TON to write this chapter. I'd say it sums up Chandler's current feelings about her mom pretty well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRCHvZJnxYU Also, more cameos, though one is very clearly not from a musical. ;)


	11. IX. The Truth Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica provides both words of wisdom and of reassurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I'm so sorry about the wait, guys. Writer's block hit me like a freight train, but now my muse is back. I might stay at a once every two weeks schedule, though. That feels a little more doable for me.

Heather Chandler didn’t show up at the Calluna’s usual meeting place before school, and Veronica surprised herself with how worried she was. She wondered what would make her so late, but got her answer in the form of Arastra swooping down to meet them, a piece of folded paper in her beak. Duke took it from her once she landed and scanned the words with a raised eyebrow. “Heather says she’s not feeling well and wants someone to bring homework and notes to her after school.”

Veronica somehow doubted Heather was actually sick - hell, she still wasn’t sure any of the Heathers _could_ get sick - but if her familiar was calm, she had to ultimately be okay. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check up on her. “I’ll do it,” she said. “I only share a few classes with her, though. Do either of you have her schedule?”

So Veronica spent the day alternating between worrying about Heather, collecting homework and notes from people in her other classes, and stealing kisses from JD in the hallways between lessons. Aside from Heather Chandler’s absence, the day progressed as normal.

That is, up until the final class of the day, the only class that Veronica shared with all three Heathers: Anatomy of the Undead. The students filed into the huge lecture hall, catching sight of a large cage covered by a cloth that sat in the center of the room. They could only guess what creature Professor Dillamond had procured for their lesson.

Once the lecture hall had filled, the old man himself shuffled into the room, in all his goat-like glory. “Alright, students,” he croaked. “This particular lesson has been long overdue, and for that, I apologize. I try to get to this at the very start of the year, but a specimen was hard to come by. Now, we talk about Blight on a regular basis, study samples of Blighted plants and animals, and have explored the ins and outs of what happens to a Blighted human. However, that last point has only been touched on in theory. I warn you, this may be disturbing to some, but I would hope that any who have come this far have a strong stomach. Nevertheless, I would like you all to be prepared.” He grabbed the edge of the cloth and pulled it away.

A hush fell over the students as the Blighted woman sagged against the bars of the cage. Wrinkled gray skin clung to the bones beneath like old leather, desiccated and cracked. Stringy brown hair hung past dry lips that had receded to reveal its rotten teeth in a perpetual snarl. Its breath came out hollow and wheezy, its eyes barely visible, sunken and black. The thing was practically mummified; dried out, husk-like, as gray and withered as the diseased crops that the Calluna had dealt with so often.

Veronica felt McNamara tense up beside her, and she put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

The creature reached a bony arm through the bars, which Professor Dillamond batted back with his cane. He peered around at the students, and smiled thinly. “Too stunned for words? That’s usually the reaction. Does anyone still possess the soundness of mind to remind the rest of the class exactly what we’re looking at?”

Whispers passed between the students before Duke raised her hand. “That’s a… a Blightborn. Blight is the result of a powerful vampire extending its influence to drain away the life-force of everything around it, not just the blood of a few humans and animals. That… thing is still technically alive, but it’s been sucked dry. It pretty much has no soul left. That’s if it had one to start with. It’s an adult, so I assume it’s not quite a _true_ Blightborn… right?”

“Right you are, Miss Duke,” Dillamond said. “This poor thing was found wandering the ruins of a town that had succumbed to Blight. The other residents, their crops, and their livestock had been completely drained, but this one was still alive, so to speak. That’s not to say that there aren’t true Blightborn - again, children who contract Blight while still in the womb - which grow to adulthood, but those are extremely rare cases, usually engineered by vampires who wish to raise an army from scratch. For a child to be born Blighted in a human settlement not under the control of a vampire is simply a matter of bad luck, the same as any other birth defect. A tragic reality, but that is the very reason we must observe the results of Blight whenever we can, upsetting though it may be. Now!” He clapped his hands and looked around the hall of horrified faces. “Who would like to be the first to take a closer look?”

 

\---

 

Veronica was sluggish on her walk to the Chandler manor. The Blightborn was currently back in storage, ready for the next lesson, but seeing it up close had been… an experience. It felt as though merely being in its presence had drained her of something (even if that something was mostly her appetite.) She pitied Heather for having missed the first class featuring the thing; she would be seeing it for the first time alone when she came back, and that seemed like a far more unpleasant concept than facing it as a group.

Soon enough, the large oak doors of the manor loomed before Veronica once again, and she knocked with a wry grin. She knew she hardly needed to announce her presence for Heather’s sake after Sunday, but the rest of the household would probably expect better manners.

The doors opened with a creak, and a maid poked her head out. “May I help you?”

“I’m one of Heather’s classmates,” Veronica said. “I have her school assignments and some notes.”

The maid motioned for Veronica to enter, and after accepting directions that she didn’t need, she made her way up the stairs to Heather’s room.

“Heather?” She knocked quietly. “It’s Veronica. I brought school stuff.”

There was a long pause before a quiet voice answered, “It’s unlocked.”

Heather Chandler and quiet very rarely went together, so that was already a bad sign. Veronica tentatively pushed the door open, not really sure what to expect, and found Heather sitting against the headboard of her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. A number of leather notebooks were spread out around her on the bed and bedside table. She peered at Veronica over the top of her knees with tired, puffy eyes, her hair frazzled and untamed.

_Alright, nothing about this picture is even remotely normal or okay._

She walked slowly toward the bed. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Peachy,” Heather said, not moving.

Veronica sat next to her and scooted close. “You're not actually sick, are you?”

“Duke was right.”

Veronica’s heart dropped into her stomach. “S-seriously?”

“I read my mom’s journals. She banged some vampire to get close enough to kill him and ended up pregnant. Then she married my da—” She clenched her fist and took a deep, steadying breath. “Married _Mr. Chandler_  and passed me off as his.” She looked at Veronica with a sad smile. “The greatest vampire hunter in the world, and she gets knocked up by one of her marks. So yes, you and What’s-His-Face awakened me as a dhampir, just like Duke thought. I bookmarked everything relevant, if you care about the details.”

Heather wiped away a stray tear with the heel of her palm and gestured to the journals scattered all around the bed. “My mom never planned to tell me about any of this until I was eighteen, and then she was going to ask what I wanted to do about it. Can you fucking believe that? ‘Happy birthday, Heather! By the way, the man you called your father for your entire life isn’t actually related to you, and you’re half-vampire. Would you like to continue living a lie by pretending to be human or do you want to die for thirty seconds and then spend the rest of your life feeling restless and twitchy and _wrong_?’ Fuck that, and fuck her.”

Veronica was at a loss for words. She was still trying to process the idea of Heather being a dhampir, and now it was being compounded with family issues. Family issues about Lady Beatrice, no less. The fact that a hero who had saved countless people - including Veronica - had kept such a huge secret made her head spin. It shattered the image of the faraway, flawless hero for everyone to look up to, for the students to strive to emulate in every way.

Heather couldn’t even be bothered to pretend she didn’t care, which was a surreal experience on its own. The unflappable head of the Coven of Calluna, the witch queen of Westerberg, was crumbling to pieces in front of her.

And Veronica knew that she was partly to blame.

“Heather…” She cautiously put an arm around Heather’s shoulders, and when she didn’t protest, she pulled her close. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. That was supposed to be your choice and we… _I_ took that from you.”

Heather laughed bitterly. “Please. Don’t give yourself so much credit. It was never my choice. It doesn’t matter that I’m awakened. This… this _thing_ that I am… it’s always been inside of me. The only difference is that now I actually know how fucked I am.” She looked up at Veronica with tired eyes. “Why didn’t you just let me die?”

A chill ran down Veronica’s spine. “What?”

“You could have watched me die at your feet. After what I threatened to do, you had every reason, and the means to do it, so why didn’t you?”

Veronica sighed and grabbed Heather’s hand, gently brushing her thumb over her knuckles. “I told you: you’re my friend and I care about you. You do awful things sometimes, including to me, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to die. No one does, and you wouldn’t be at Westerberg if you didn’t agree at least a little. You want to be a hunter - to save people - and you deserve the chance to do it.”

Heather looked at Veronica curiously, then leaned heavily into her side and let her head fall onto her shoulder. “God, I don’t know how you stay so damn chipper about everything.”

“I’m not chipper,” Veronica said, twining her fingers with Heathers. “I’m being realistic. We’re kids, Heather. We may be training to do the most dangerous job in the world, but until we graduate, we should be allowed to just be kids. Even if you’re not fully human, you’re human enough to have that right.” She picked up the nearest journal and opened it to a random page.

 

**_Entry #329_ **

**_Target:_ ** _Vampire x2, bat-like._

 **_Method of Execution:_ ** _Immolation._

_Hired to take out a mated pair of vampires stalking the fields and preventing passage into or out of the town of Olmsted Falls._

_I’m usually remiss to give money to drunkards, but whiskey is flammable, and the local brewery was suspicious of my purchasing alcohol, so buying the bottle straight from the hands of the local drunk was my easiest option. I smashed the bottle against the male when he tried to ambush me, and set him alight with a torch on his next pass. The female eventually succumbed to the flames in an attempt to save her mate. It would have almost been tragic, even romantic, if they weren’t monsters._

_An elderly local from the town accompanied me back when I told him I was a teacher at Westerberg. Mr. Abronsius has long since aged past his prime hunting years, but he has valuable knowledge to pass along. I think he’ll make a fine addition to the staff._

 

Veronica set the book aside. “Maybe you could talk to one of the teachers about the dhampir thing. I think Professor Abronsius might—”

“Are you fucking insane?” Heather pushed Veronica away as if burned. “If anyone knew what I was, they’d hate me even more than they used to hate _you_. Not to mention that my mom’s legacy would be ruined.”

Veronica ignored the jab at her expense. “And you suddenly care about her again? What happened to, ‘Fuck that and fuck her?’”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking pissed, but the foundation of my rep was built on her name. Take that away, and everything I’ve worked for will go to shit. That includes the Calluna, which means that you and Heather and Heather would go down with me. So unless you want to be at the bottom of the food chain again, this stays between the Calluna and your fuckbuddy.”

“JD has a name, you know.”

“Like I give a shit.”

“He’s in on your secret, so maybe you _should_ give a shit.” Veronica pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Look, there’s no way to fix this. You’re a dhampir, and that isn’t going to go away. But you’re stronger and faster, and you said your magic is more potent. You could turn this to your advantage. Do you have any idea how many legendary vampire hunters were dhampirs? They can match powerful undead in a way few people can. This doesn’t need to be a bad thing.”

“And suddenly you’re the authority on this?” Heather said.

Veronica placed her hands on Heather’s shoulders and forced her to look at her. “You told me that I needed to own my lycanthropy, to do something positive with it. Maybe that’s what you need to do; train, get stronger, learn what you’re capable of, and put it to use.” Heather didn’t look convinced, so Veronica added, almost as an afterthought, “Hell, you could be even better than your mom.”

That last sentence reignited the flames in Heather’s eyes that had been only smoldering embers when Veronica had first entered the room. “I _could_ … I could be the best vampire hunter Sherwood’s ever seen. Shit, why didn’t I think of that? Outshining her in every way would be the ultimate ‘Fuck you.’”

Veronica blinked. “…Okay, not exactly the type of motivation I was going for, but hey, whatever works for you.”

“I’m not budging on keeping it a secret, though,” Heather said. “That means we’re not talking to Abronsius or Flemming or any other teacher at Westerberg. Any information we need, we get from the library.”

Veronica nodded. “Okay, we’ll get everyone into the library tomorrow. We can research the extent of what dhampir powers are capable of and go from there.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and began to stand up when Heather’s hand came to rest on hers.

“Wait.”

She turned to see Heather staring resolutely at the floor. “I’m… I’m doing better, but I’m not, uh, totally there yet. About…” Heather swallowed. “About my mom and all that. So I thought, maybe—”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Heather only tightened her grip on Veronica’s hand.

Veronica smiled and crawled back onto the bed facing Heather. She still refused to meet her gaze, so Veronica picked up a journal and flipped through the pages. “Did you find anything else interesting? Besides, ah, what you were looking for?”

Heather laughed quietly. “There is some pretty crazy shit in there.” She finally looked at Veronica and said with a wink, “I think you’ll get a real kick out of entry 343.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, more cameos! Also, I've received a bunch of really sweet comments that I haven't had the time to respond to individually, and I just want you all to know to know that I read and appreciate them all. You guys are awesome. <3


	12. X. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a trip to the library, and JD begins to better understand the enigma that is Heather Chandler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC ISN'T DEAD! So sorry for the RIDICULOUS wait. School has been kicking my ass hard, and the writer's block didn't help. But now I'm back and I'm excited to finally get this particular chapter out. Special thanks to the wonderful Scouts_Mockingbird!

Heather strode up to the Calluna’s usual meeting place on Friday morning and barked, “Library. Second period.” Her tone brooked no room for argument, so Duke and McNamara wordlessly followed her toward Westerberg, with Veronica tailing slightly behind with JD.

He had been meeting up with the Calluna for the walk to school since offering his services as a lock-picking trainer, and although Duke had at first voiced some concern about their being seen with him, his relationship with Veronica allowed him to hover fairly close to the otherwise untouchable coven. Veronica had a feeling that she secretly appreciated his wit and knowledge of literature, but knew that she would never admit it, so she had contented herself with simply enjoying their banter.

The first class of the day dragged on for an eternity to Veronica, and she leapt out of her seat the moment the bell signaled the end of the period. She met up with JD during her mad dash to the library, and the two eventually settled at a secluded table with the rest of the Calluna. Veronica produced a set of runes from her bag and placed them in a circle around the table before taking her seat.

“Alright,” she said, “that should keep this conversation as secret as it can be. Care to do the honors, Heather?”

Heather nodded and stared around at the group before turning to Duke. “I never thought I’d say this, but…” She exhaled sharply and growled, “Heather was right.”

Duke’s eyes lit up. “About what?” she said, fighting a grin.

“About your dhampir theory.”

Duke’s face fell immediately, JD nearly toppled out of his chair, and McNamara clapped both hands to her mouth to stifle a cry of surprise.

Veronica laughed halfheartedly. “That was my reaction, too.”

“Holy shit…” JD ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Heather pulled one of her mother’s journals from her book-bag and slid it across the table. “I bookmarked everything relevant. There’s plenty of other crazy shit I found, but that first marked entry is all you need to know.”

Duke grimaced a bit at the dogeared pages and flipped to the marked page. She quickly scanned what Veronica knew was entry number 304 and passed the journal to JD with trembling hand. “Oh my god.”

JD took in the words with wide eyes, McNamara reading over his shoulder with a similar expression. He numbly turned to look at Veronica. “What the fuck… did we do?”

Veronica took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, even as McNamara glared at them. “JD, there was no way we could have known. Even Heather didn’t know; her mom kept it a secret.”

“Which is why,” Heather said, shooting a pointed look at McNamara, “I’ve elected not to destroy you both.”

McNamara’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you’re _still_ going to forgive them?! After they almost killed you _and_ turned you into a monster?! What the fuck?!”

Heather stood abruptly and glared down at McNamara, planting her hands firmly on the table. The air around them shifted, and an unearthly chill ran through Veronica’s bones. She didn’t miss the way JD inched closer to her, but her eyes were still trained on Heather.

“Are you questioning the leader of this coven?” Heather’s voice was low and dangerous. “I would highly recommend that you not make a habit of it. I may have forgiven Veronica’s little tantrum at the bonfire, but lycanthropy can be unpredictable at best. You, on the other hand, have no such excuse for—” Her tirade was cut short by a soft crackling sound. Heather looked down, and immediately reeled back, nearly tripping backwards over her chair.

Swirls of frost had begun to engulf the table, radiating outward from where her hands had been moments before. “ _Shit_.” She held her hands up and stared in horror at the tendrils of icy fog rising from her skin. “No, no no no no…”

Veronica hastily moved over to Heather’s side and grasped her hands in her own, ignoring the sting of the cold. “Heather, just breathe. We’re going to figure out how to handle this.” She turned back to the stunned group as Heather tried to steady her breathing. “This is why we’re all here. We don’t know what dhampirs are capable of, only that it’s going to take work for Heather to get her new powers under control. Beatrice’s journals only told us so much, and we don’t want to risk going back into her study for any of her other books, so we need to do our research here.”

Heather closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She gently pushed Veronica’s hands away and turned to a shaken McNamara. “Look, I never said I totally forgave them, and I’m not saying _you_ have to forgive them, but there’s nothing I can do to change what I am. I would have found out in another year anyway.” She gazed around at the other gathered faces. “This is our reality now. And as much as I despise spending excess time in the library, there’s really no other choice if we want to find out more about my… condition. If we all look, we should be able to find something useful pretty quickly.”

Veronica pulled a small stack of papers from her bag and set it in the middle of the table. “These are some of the terms I picked out for us to use as a reference,” she said. “I don’t know how many sources we’ll need, but to be safe, we should each try to find find at least one. We’ll meet up at Heather’s house after school for a proper study session.”

“And until then?” JD asked.

“Until then, it’s business as usual,” Heather said. “None of this leaves the library until we’re well away from the school grounds. Once you have your source, just stick it in your bag and go to class. Are we clear?”

Four heads nodded in unison, and the group split apart with their reference sheets, JD staying behind as Veronica gathered her runes.

He watched the Heathers’ retreating forms with a crooked grin. “I guess I’m stuck with them, huh?” he said, wryly.

“Yep,” Veronica said as she stood up. “Don’t worry, eventually you get used to them.” She leaned in for a kiss, which JD eagerly returned, until a voice at the end of the aisle promptly broke the first rule of library etiquette.

“For fuck’s sake, save your library make-out sessions for later!”

The two hastily broke apart, not bothering to check which Heather had caught them. JD raised a skeptical eyebrow at Veronica. “You were saying?”

Veronica grinned sheepishly up at him. “I did say _eventually_ …”

 

\-----

 

JD glowered as he followed the Heathers toward their destination. With the consequences of Sunday’s mishap weighing him down, the school day had dragged on long enough to have him practically shaking with impatience.

Now here they were, almost to Heather’s mansion, and the girls were engaging in schoolyard gossip as if there was nothing wrong. Logically, he knew that talking about the dhampir situation in public was out of the question, but it still irked him, especially with Veronica participating. Why she had let herself fall in league with people like the Heathers still eluded him, but it seemed to make her happy, so he held his tongue.

Plus, the whole mess with Heather being a dhampir was pretty much his fault, so he wasn’t really in a place to complain.

“Ah, my family is back.”

JD looked up to see that they had already arrived in the front garden of the Chandler manor. An ornate horse carriage was parked near the staircase that led up to the door, and several people were busy unloading luggage while a well-dressed couple watched. Neither resembled Heather physically, but JD immediately knew that they had to be her dad and step-mom; they carried themselves with the exact same air of _‘Look at how much better than you I am_ ’ as Heather herself.

“Well, there’s Dad and Loretta,” Heather sighed. “So where’s—”

“HEATHEEEEEEEEER!”

A sky-blue blur raced across the lawn and barreled into Heather’s legs, clinging to them for dear life.

“Oof! Hello to you too, monkey.” Heather reached down and ruffled the young girl’s mousy brown hair. “Did you have fun at Grandma’s?”

The girl nodded eagerly. “Yeah! You should’ve come with us! She threw a biiiiiig party, and _I_ got to dance with the _grownups_!”

“Oh, that must have been so much fun!”

“Why didn’t you come, though?” the girl said with a pout. “You never come with us to visit Grandma.”

Heather puffed up her chest. “I stayed behind to train, of course!” she said as she mimed stabbing an unseen enemy. “I have to be at my best, just in case some nasty old monster in the woods decides to… attack!” She playfully flicked the girl on the nose.

The little girl giggled, then gasped and pulled a yellow flower out of the small bag at her hip. She held it before Heather in both hands. “I found this! Can you do the magic with it? Pretty please with sugar on top?”

Heather laughed, a bright and airy sound that was worlds apart from her usual haughty chuckle. “Alright, alright. Hand it over.”

The girl did so, and Heather held the flower gently in her hands. Slowly, the flower grew and branched off into new blooms that moved in an otherworldly dance. The stems tangled themselves together in a circle, and once Heather was satisfied, she placed the finished flower crown atop the girl’s head. “Yellow is your color,” she said.

The girl smiled so wide JD thought her face might split in two. Veronica chuckled beside him, finally alerting the girl to their presence. She immediately darted behind Heather, peaking out from behind her skirt with curious eyes.

“Ah, how could I forget?” Heather turned back and hefted the girl into her arms. “JD, Veronica, this is my little sister, Margaret. Margaret, JD is a friend from school, and Veronica is the new member of the coven that I wrote to you about. Can you say hi?”

The girl shook her head and hid her face in Heather’s shoulder, peaking out at the strangers from behind her hair.

“Come on, Maggie, that’s rude.”

For whatever reason, JD suddenly felt compelled to approach. He bent down slightly to be at eye level with Margaret. “I like your dress,” he said. “Is blue your favorite color?”

Margaret nodded shyly.

JD grinned. “That’s my favorite color, too.”

“Maggie, what do we say when someone compliments us?” Heather asked.

Margaret turned and gave a small smile. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Good job!” Heather set Margaret on the ground. “Alright, I’m going to study with my friends. You go run back to Dad.”

“Awwww, can’t I come watch?”

“Sorry, not today. We have a special project. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

Margaret pouted for a moment, but quickly realized it was no use. “Okay.” She waved shyly to JD and said, “Bye-bye!” before skipping back over to her parents.

Veronica looked curiously at Heather. “You didn’t think to tell me about Maggie when we first started hanging out?”

Heather’s demeanor changed so abruptly that JD swore it gave him whiplash. She rolled her eyes and said, “It was never relevant. I was going to introduce you once my family got back from seeing my grandmother. Also, I’m the only one who gets to call her Maggie, so you’d better remember that if you don't want to hear her best impression of a banshee.” She motioned to a stone path that led around the back of the manor. “Come on, my greenhouse will be most private place for this.”

Duke, Mac, and Veronica began the veritable _trek_ across the vast property, but Heather walked slowly with her gaze still trained on her sister, and JD quietly fell into step beside her.

“So I’m a ‘friend’ from school now? I’m flattered, truly.”

“Don’t push it, psycho. That was for Maggie’s sake.”

JD hummed noncommittally and tucked his hands into his pockets. They walked in silence for a while before JD spoke again.

“You don’t have to do that around them, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t care. Like it you’re so far above everything that you don’t need to show any emotion except vague annoyance.” He smirked. “It’s a nice mask at school, sure, but Veronica and Mac and Duke are your friends. They know you.”

Heather whirled on JD and jammed a finger in his chest, her eyes burning. “Yes. They do. But you don’t. So don’t think you can fucking make assumptions about me like that. I may have put aside what you did to me, but that doesn’t mean I trust or like you. I just have more important things to think about than all the ways I could ruin you. Are we clear?”

JD raised his hands in surrender, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. “Crystal.” He let out a quiet laugh as Heather turned on her heel and sauntered off. Or rather, as the Heather most of the world knew sauntered off. He had a feeling he’d caught a rare, fleeting glimpse of the _real_ Heather. One that was reserved for a select few people.

For some bizarre reason, and despite his own better judgement, part of him was suddenly very curious about that version of Heather.

 

\-----

 

“Hey, heh… You know what’d be awesome?” Kurt slammed his empty tankard on the table and grinned drunkenly at Ram. “Bein’ in the middle of a Veronica Sawyer Heather Chandwich… Wait. Shit, Chandler sandwich. Veronica Heather sandwissh.”

Ram belched and grimaced. “I mean, Veronica’s hot, but wouldn’t that be, like, bestiality or something?”

“Nah, man,” Kurt slurred. “It doesn’t count as fuckin’ an animal if she’s not wolfed out when you do it.”

Ram opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but was interrupted by a foaming tankard of beer suddenly appearing before him. He looked up from his stupor to find Kurt staring in awe at his own drink, then turned to find the innkeeper grinning and pointing his thumb behind him.

“The gentleman at the bar just paid your tab and bought you another round,” he said. “Shall I send him over for a chat?”

Ram nodded with a lopsided smile. “Hell yeah. He’s cool.”

Within moments (or had it been another hour? They were both too wasted to be sure) the man at the bar had settled himself at their table with his own drink. “I hear you two are some of the best monster killers in Sherwood,” he said. “And from the looks of it, lady-killers, too.”

Kurt snorted. “No way, we don’t kill ladies. We just really like ’em.”

The man smiled thinly. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Something about werewolves? Any chance you could tell me more?”

Ram took a swig of beer and hiccuped. “Yeah, there’s this chick at the Academy, Veronica Sawyer. Used to be a huuuuge nerd, but now she’s some of the hottest ass at school.”

“Hell yeah,” Kurt said. “She’s a total fox. Wait, no. A total _wolf_.”

Ram snorted and reached across the table to pound his friend’s fist, then turned to look at their benefactor with scrutiny. “Hey, wait. Ya gave us drinks, but I uh, I'm pretty sure I’ve never seen you b’fore.”

Kurt gave a wobbly nod. “Yeah, give us a name. We gotta thank you for real about payin’ the tab.”

The man grinned. “Anders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank all of my commenters again. I don't always respond, but I read them all, and they always make me smile. <3


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